False Pretenses
by Jackfan
Summary: Jack & Irina mission gone bad PART II added FINISHED
1. Prologue

Jack grabbed Irina's arm and spun her body towards his. Swiftly he lowered his lips to hers, holding her body close. Irina responded immediately, her lips parting while her hands reached up, tangling themselves in his hair. Jack's hands began to explore her body hungrily, eliciting moans of pleasure.  
  
Slowly he backed her up against the wall in the deepest shadows of the alley, hips pressed against hers, locked in a passionate embrace. Irina's hands found their way inside his shirt, and they moved sensuously across his back, down towards his belt.  
  
The footsteps faded. Jack stepped back and dropped his hands. "They're gone," he said, breathing heavily. Irina leaned against the wall for support. Involuntarily, she reached up and touched her lips, swollen and moist. Jack's hands clenched at his sides, unable to break his gaze from hers, his eyes dark with suppressed desire. Warily each studied the other, each fighting for control.  
  
Irina broke eye contact first. Closing her eyes briefly, and pushing away from the wall, she said quietly, "We need to go. This way." 


	2. Chapter 1 Mission

Earlier that morning  
  
The engine of the transport plane hummed loudly in the background, making conversation difficult. Jack impatiently glanced at his watch. This mission could not be over fast enough. Thrown together in too much haste, too many people involved, too many details left unverified, fundamentally flawed in design. Jack had argued vehemently against proceeding based on the one unconfirmed piece of intel the CIA had received, but had been overruled. Jack grimaced to himself. Overruled was putting it mildly. He had been so strident in his objections to the mission that Kendall had finally lost it.  
  
"That's about enough, Agent Bristow," Kendall had snapped. "Your assignment at SD-6 gave you a great deal of autonomy. You appear to have forgotten that we don't vote on our missions here. The mission stands. Either you do this or Sydney will." The two men had glared at each other, Kendall with irritation that his authority was being challenged, Jack with outrage that Kendall would even suggest assigning Sydney in his place.  
  
The plan called for Irina to be freed, again, from her cell, to help him gain access to a purported Rambaldi artifact. The CIA was desperate to capture Sloane and hoped to use the new artifact for bait.  
  
The most infuriating part of this assignment, Jack reflected, had been briefing Irina. She had immediately pointed out the problems in the mission to him. The same problems that he had pointed out to Kendall, he thought with exasperation. Through gritted teeth, he had had to explain to her why it was such a good idea. The look she had given him had spoken volumes. "This isn't your plan, is it?" she probed, with a penetrating look. Goaded, he had answered her with a glare.  
  
"What if I refuse?"  
  
"You'll be in violation of your immunity agreement," he had shot back, tired of fencing with her, "and all the attendant complications that might represent." She had glowered at him. They both knew that "attendant complications" translated to prosecution for murder and treason.  
  
Jack shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Irina. He hated her for what she had done to him 20 years ago. It was only a matter of time before she betrayed him - them, he amended quickly - again. The torture was in the waiting, because with each additional conversation, touch, or look, memories stirred, memories which he had successfully suppressed, with considerable effort, years before. And the torture was in the watching, he sighed to himself. Because as he watched her every move, looking for the betrayal, he also saw her intelligence, her beauty, her courage. Maintaining his resistance to her was taking increasing effort. It had been hard enough visiting her every couple of days while she had been in her cell. The thought of working with her closely over the next 24 hours left him exhausted.  
  
Now she sat across from him on the plane, readying her cover documents and her gear. She was looking thoughtful. He recognized that expression and it made him nervous. He fingered his watch, which was once again linked to the C-4 necklace she was wearing. He had a healthy respect for her strategic abilities. He hoped she wouldn't try anything. 


	3. Chapter 2 Hotel

They had arrived at the hotel without incident, Jack as an international arms dealer, Irina as his female companion. Irina had dressed the part, and he knew the admiring glances they were receiving were not aimed at him. He had braced himself for a display in the lobby, expecting her to flirt outrageously with him in public, but she had been subdued. He had been relieved. He would have had to respond consistent with his cover, and he didn't need the added stress. Perhaps things would go smoothly after all.  
  
Irina sighed with pleasure as her gaze took in the ornate lobby. It felt wonderful to be out of her CIA cell, and she was pleased to see that their cover was going to entitle them to a first-class hotel. Under the guise of admiring her surroundings, she carefully examined the other guests and staff, then relaxed slightly. It did not appear that they were being watched. Possibly she was being overcautious. Perhaps things would go smoothly after all.  
  
Their temporary feelings of well-being were shattered as they entered their hotel room. The door slammed behind them and they heard the familiar clicks of AK-47's, cocked and aimed in their direction. They had been ambushed.  
  
Simultaneously, they both rapidly calculated odds and distances. Six men, heavily armed, standing 15 feet away from them. Jack and Irina, their hands filled with luggage. Irina's shoulders slumped and she looked over at Jack, reading his agreement in his eyes. Together they dropped their bags and raised their hands. Without speaking, one of the gunmen gestured for them to go down on their knees with their hands behind their heads. He stepped forward and thoroughly frisked them, tossing their guns to the other side of the room. He stepped back, still not saying anything, and knocked on the door to the adjoining room.  
  
Jack's mind continued to race, wondering how they were going to talk their way out. If this was a local crime boss, they had enough money to offer a substantial bribe. His calculations came to an abrupt halt when he saw who walked through the door. Arvin Sloane. His stomach knotted. He glanced over at Irina. He saw with a sinking heart that she was looking triumphant, and felt sick. He had been waiting for her betrayal - and now the wait was over.  
  
Irina was totally unsurprised when Sloane walked in. "Arvin," Irina purred, gracefully getting to her feet. Ignoring the looks from Jack and Sloane's henchmen she glided over to him, supremely confident in her reception.  
  
"Irina, my dear," responded Arvin, holding out an arm to her. "Good of you to join us."  
  
Irina gave him a lazy smile and kissed him on the cheek. She flicked a glance at Jack, still kneeling on the floor and choked with fury. "Generous of the CIA to drop me off."  
  
Arvin followed her gaze. "And you brought Jack, my dear friend, who I've trusted these many years." He paused, then continued in an altered tone, "You underestimated me, Jack. How many missions did you think you and Sydney could botch before I would catch on? A shame Geiger didn't finish you off." He gestured to one of the gunmen to pass him his pistol. "I'm afraid our friendship has reached the end of its usefulness. Good-bye, Jack," he said, raising the gun.  
  
Jack stared back unflinchingly, not revealing his internal turmoil. He berated himself for being a fool, walking into Sloane's trap, letting Irina set him up again. It could not get worse than this, executed at Arvin's hands in an anonymous hotel room in a foreign land.  
  
Casually, Irina placed her hand on Arvin's. "My privilege, I think. He is, after all," she mocked, looking at Jack, "my husband."  
  
Numbly, Jack realized it could get worse, after all. He watched in despair as Irina took the gun and pointed it at him. 


	4. Chapter 3 Escape

Jack watched in despair as Irina took the gun and pointed it at him. Just like she shot Sydney, he thought dully to himself. Only she wasn't aiming for his shoulder, but for his heart. She had broken it once; this time it looked like it would be permanent.  
  
Hands behind his head, his fingers brushed his watch. The necklace. He could detonate the necklace and kill her instantly - maybe give himself a chance to escape. He closed his eyes. Could he do it? At one time he had thought it would be so easy, had almost reveled in the thought of her death at his hands. Now- now his stomach lurched at the thought of leaving her behind, dead, as he escaped.  
  
He opened his eyes. The nightmare was still real - she was still pointing the gun as his chest. He paused as surprise rippled through him. They were both wearing Kevlar chest guards. She had insisted. Had she forgotten? Carefully masking his thoughts, he studied her more closely. Nothing in her face indicated that her intentions were anything other than murderous. She was speaking, he noticed. He tuned back in.  
  
".looks like you've underestimated me as well, Jack. Just like the last time." Which 'last time'? he thought urgently to himself. When they were married? Or when they were in Kashmir? He saw her glance flick to the gun, then his chest, then her necklace. And again - gun, chest, necklace.  
  
Irina could have screamed with frustration. Jack had to figure this out, and quickly. She gritted her teeth. This would be a lot easier if he would trust her. How could he have believed for a second that she would shoot him in cold blood? Arvin was restless beside her, tired of speeches. He reached over impatiently to take the gun back. She shrugged him off and squeezed the trigger.  
  
The force of the blast hit Jack square in the middle of his chest, lifting him up off his knees and leaving him slumped on his side. He continued the motion and ended up face down, near the door. He lay still, not breathing, and carefully depressed the first button on his watch.  
  
Irina turned to Arvin, a playful smile on her lips. "One problem solved," she said. She tucked her hair behind her ear, smoothly detaching the necklace as she did so. She closed her eyes in relief as the necklace failed to explode, and surreptitiously dropped it to the floor near the gunmen. "Let me just make sure he won't be bothering us again."  
  
She strode across the room to where Jack laid, huddled on the floor. Pressing the gun to his head, she muttered, "Now." Jack depressed the other button.  
  
The C-4 charge in the necklace exploded, sending gunmen flying. Jack scrambled to his feet and they dove out the hotel room door, charging for the stairway. He estimated that they would get a 10 second head start before whoever was left came after them. They were down the 3 flights of stairs and out the back entrance of the hotel in 9.  
  
As they sprinted away from the hotel, Jack vowed to himself that he would never underestimate her again. 


	5. Chapter 4 Alley

Chapter 5  
  
They ran for 20 minutes. Jack was quickly lost in the unfamiliar city, but Irina took the lead and appeared to know where she was heading. They kept a close watch out for police, dodging around corners whenever they heard a siren approaching on its way to the hotel. They knew that, at this point, they were much more at risk from a paramilitary organization aimed at squelching the terrorists who had bombed the hotel than from the gunmen who had been chasing them.  
  
They skidded to a halt in an alley to catch their breath and their bearings. Jack glared at Irina. "You knew!" he accused.  
  
She flashed him a half-amused smile. "I guessed," she replied. "I didn't know when, or where, but I was pretty sure we'd see Sloane at some point."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?" he seethed.  
  
"You would have told me I was imagining it. Besides," she said smugly, "you were much more convincing this way."  
  
Jack's fingers itched. He remembered how he had felt when Arvin had walked in, and she had joined him. He wanted to strangle her.  
  
Suddenly, he froze. He heard measured steps approaching the alley. He looked over at Irina and saw that she heard them too. One glance showed him that there was no exit on the other end of the alley. Jack grabbed Irina's arm and spun her body towards his. Swiftly he lowered his lips to hers, holding her body close. Irina responded immediately, her lips parting while her hands reached up, tangling themselves in his hair. Jack's hands began to explore her body hungrily, eliciting moans of pleasure.  
  
He heard the footsteps pause. Slowly he backed her up against the wall in the deepest shadows of the alley, hips pressed against hers, locked in a passionate embrace. Irina's hands found their way inside his shirt, and they moved sensuously across his back, down towards his belt.  
  
The footsteps faded. Jack stepped back and dropped his hands. "They're gone," he said, breathing heavily. Irina leaned against the wall for support. Involuntarily, she reached up and touched her lips, swollen and moist. Jack's hands clenched at his sides, unable to break his gaze from hers, his eyes dark with suppressed desire. Warily each studied the other, each fighting for control.  
  
Irina broke eye contact first. Closing her eyes briefly, and pushing away from the wall, she said quietly, "We need to go. This way." 


	6. Chapter 5 Refuge

Chapter 6  
  
They continued on, jogging, for several more miles, heading out of the bustling city center and into a more run-down industrial area. Outwardly serene, inwardly Irina was shaken. The embrace with Jack in the alley, designed to deceive the patrolling soldiers, had been just a little too real for comfort. Jack. She could still feel his lips on hers, his hands roaming her body. Her response. Her step faltered, then recovered.  
  
She had to focus on the mission. It was not much comfort to know that she had been right about Sloane. She knew that he would move heaven and earth to gain access to her Rambaldi knowledge. The brazenness of his earlier attempt meant that he must have strong connections in this city. Sloane would try to encircle them to keep them from escaping. She glanced sideways at the man running next to her. Sloane would kill him in a heart- beat if he captured him again.  
  
Jack appeared to be easily keeping pace with Irina, but it was only pride that kept him going. A long-distance runner in college, he knew he should be in much better shape than she was, locked up in a cell for 6 months. But his chest felt like it was on fire, each deep breath a sharp pain, as his bruised chest rubbed up against the Kevlar which had saved his life. Even so, he wasn't going to be the one that called for a stop. Besides, the pain distracted him from what he knew he would be concentrating on otherwise. Irina. He didn't know what had come over him in the alley - the feel of her in his arms again, the smell of her hair, her hands on his body - but another minute and he would not have been able to stop. He shuddered. He needed to focus on the mission.  
  
Irina slowly swung open the door into an abandoned building on the outskirts of the city. Dust was everywhere. Through the dim light, Jack could see the outlines of broken furniture. Irina wrinkled her nose in distaste. "We should be safe here for the night," she said reluctantly. She carefully picked her way across the room, stumbling once or twice in the gloom. Jack followed and joined her as she eyed a lumpy mattress on the floor with disfavor. "My cell is looking better all the time," she said acerbically.  
  
"Where are we?" asked Jack, surveying their new accommodations. So much for a first-class room, he thought to himself gloomily.  
  
"About 4 miles east of the hotel. I've used this spot before. We won't be disturbed."  
  
Jack passed on the opportunity to ask how and when she had used it before. "The backup extraction plan has us meeting a chopper at dawn tomorrow. About another 2 miles east," he estimated, recalling the map he had memorized. "Looks like we've got about 8 hours in this dum-, uh, place."  
  
Jack carefully lowered himself into a chair that looked only marginally capable of sustaining his weight. He winced. Now that the immediate need to flee was behind them, he became even more aware of his chest, throbbing painfully from the impact of the bullet.  
  
He looked up to see Irina regarding him carefully. "Sorry about that," she said sympathetically. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Fine," he lied. "Thank goodness your aim is good, anyway," he continued lightly. Recognizing that something more might be required he hesitated, then formed the words that were stuck in his throat. "Thanks. For handling Sloane," he finished, inarticulately. He didn't feel comfortably being in her debt, even temporarily.  
  
"I suspect we'll both be off Arvin's Christmas card list," Irina responded drily.  
  
Jack cautiously drew another deep breath and winced again.  
  
"Let me take a look," said Irina briskly, waving at him to take off his shirt.  
  
"I'm *fine*," said Jack, glaring at her.  
  
For heaven's sake, thought Irina, they had slept together for 10 years. "Jack," she said impatiently, "I'm not going to seduce you." She ignored the little voice in her head that speculated on how much fun that might be. He wasn't ready yet. Focus. "We're going to need to work together, and I need to know if there are things you can't do because you're injured. Take off your shirt, or," she finished forcefully, "I'll do it for you."  
  
"Think you could?" Jack challenged wearily. Seeing the answer in her eyes, he sighed and stood up. Stiffly he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it to one side, then fumbled with the chest shield straps. As he lifted it off, he saw Irina's eyebrows raise. He looked down and saw a large purplish bruise forming across his chest. Irina reached out, gently probing, testing for broken bones. He closed his eyes and swallowed as her cool fingers gently traced the outline of the bruise. Focus. He groaned inwardly.  
  
As Jack closed his eyes, Irina took a moment to gaze admiringly at the man in front of her. He had aged well. How easy it would be to lean down and lightly kiss the bruises. She realized, with a start, that she was stroking his chest. Giving herself a shake, she finished examining him, then announced evenly, "Nothing broken."  
  
Jack opened his eyes, his expression unreadable. He turned away to shrug on his shirt, trying to keep control. He cursed himself for being so vulnerable - where just her touch could arouse him. The next 8 hours seemed impossibly long. Somehow, he hadn't anticipated that the greatest danger on this mission was just being in the same room with Irina Derevko. 


	7. Chapter 6 Contemplation

Chapter 7  
  
Irina watched him put the shirt back on with a tinge of regret. She sighed and turned to shift the few pieces of furniture in the room so that they would be more comfortable. She knew what would be coming next, and was not looking forward to it. She grimaced to herself. You could almost set a watch by Jack's analysis.  
  
"Irina?" said Jack, on cue. He turned to her. Several questions had been nagging him since Sloane had first captured them. "Irina, how did you know that Sloane would walk through that door?"  
  
Irina paused, considering her answer. She was entering dangerous territory, especially fraught because their relationship was still so fragile. Choosing her words carefully, she replied, "There are, to my knowledge, only two people in the world who fully understand the scope of Milo Rambaldi's work. One of them is Arvin Sloane. The other one," she looked directly at Jack, "is me."  
  
"There are gaps in what Arvin knows, as there are gaps in what I know. I am sure that Arvin believes that I could help him fill in his gaps, and help him achieve his objectives. Since the fall of the Alliance, I have been expecting Sloane to consolidate his position. When you told me of the single intel source for the mission, I believed it was planted." She shrugged her shoulders. "It was not a huge leap from there to conclude that I was the objective."  
  
"What if Sloane had captured you?" queried Jack, trying to digest what she had just told him.  
  
"Arvin Sloane, with complete Rambaldi knowledge, would be a very dangerous man."  
  
Jack frowned. "If the CIA had known this, they wouldn't have sent you."  
  
"If the CIA had known, they would have demanded the information for themselves. Information I'm not inclined to share." She locked eyes with Jack. "With anyone."  
  
Jack's eyes narrowed. "What do you know that you're not telling us?"  
  
"It's not up for discussion Jack. Sorry."  
  
"Then what are you going to do with the information you have?" he growled, exasperated.  
  
"Also not up for discussion," she responded, a hint of sadness in her voice.  
  
"That's not good enough," Jack snarled back.  
  
"It will have to be," she said in a steely voice. Jack recognized the tone, and knew from long experience that he would get nothing further from her.  
  
"Fine," he said coldly. Suddenly he felt tired. From the jetlag, from the adrenaline rush of the escape, from the run, from fencing with this woman who he knew yet didn't understand. Who he desired yet couldn't have. "We need to rest," he said curtly. "We'll take turns - you first."  
  
Irina nodded in agreement, relieved to have the cross-examination ended, but sorry to have expended what little good will she had accrued. Silently she organized herself on the mattress, turning away from him to face the wall.  
  
As he watched her curl up and quickly drop into sleep, Jack marveled that a woman of Irina's complexity could look so innocent at rest. For the thousandth time, he tried to guess her long-term strategy. For the thousandth time, he concluded that he didn't have a clue. One thing was now clear, though - keeping her out of Sloane's hands and returning her back safely to the US were now of paramount importance.  
  
He scrutinized her closely. He hadn't been able to do that in person since her return. Watching her sleep on the monitors and sitting next to her while she did it in person were very different things. He could hear her slow, even breathing. He could smell her scent. The whole being of the room transformed when she was in it, he thought to himself. He leant over to caress her, then snatched his hand back as he realized what he was doing. His face burned. Abruptly, he stood up and walked across the room. 


	8. Chapter 7 Trust

Chapter 8  
  
Irina awoke to a touch on her shoulder and a hand over her mouth. Quickly snapping her eyes open, she saw Jack, motioning her to be quiet and listen. She held her breath, and heard what he had. Footsteps, outside in the deserted street. She saw flashlight beams flickering outside the windows. Stealthily, she got up and followed Jack, crouching in a shadowy corner away from the windows. Footsteps slowly approached the building. "Soldiers," Jack breathed in her ear. She nodded her understanding. The footsteps would periodically pause, then continue. A random search. She relaxed, and waited. The footsteps stopped outside their window, and flashlight beams sliced the darkness. Finding nothing, the footsteps moved on. They waited, huddled together, until they could no longer hear the search.  
  
Irina stood up and stretched. Glancing at her watch, she saw that she had only slept for a couple of hours, but she felt rested. And hungry. She turned to Jack, who was looking relieved.  
  
"I don't suppose you brought the steaks with you?" asked Irina wistfully.  
  
"No," said Jack, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Left the champagne behind too." When Sydney had been 5, they had taken her on her first camping trip. They had made up a tiny daypack for her with her teddy bear and some snacks, so that she could feel like she was a real hiker. Irina had carefully packed a festive dinner on ice for them. Jack had been pleasantly surprised by how light it had been to carry as they trekked the 3 hours to their campsite. When they had set up the tent and started to unpack, they discovered why his pack had been so light - the steaks and champagne were still at home, sitting on the kitchen counter. They had convinced Sydney that real campers always had oatmeal for dinner, and had tucked her in tenderly into the tent. They had then spent the rest of the night under the stars, Irina teasing him mercilessly about leaving the dinner behind, and Jack making it up to her in creative ways. It had been a standing joke for the next several weeks. Jack sobered abruptly. She had left them 2 weeks after the camping trip. His mood soured.  
  
He was hungry too. Doing a mental inventory, he realized that he had nothing except his money belt and passport. The rest of his gear had been in the suitcases. He didn't even have a stick of gum. He glanced over at Irina, wondering what she had. Probably the same. His body stilled. Irina had a gun. *The* gun. And was not wearing the C4 necklace. He cursed himself for forgetting, even for a second, that she could not be trusted. That she was a CIA prisoner that he needed to return. Keeping his voice casual, he said, "Irina, why don't you give me the gun to hold?"  
  
Irina cast an amused glance in his direction. "It's no problem, I can hold onto it. Why don't you get some rest?"  
  
"Irina, give me the gun," snapped Jack. He was exhausted, but there was no way he could lie down as long as Irina was armed.  
  
Irina looked back at him, with the intent of making another flip remark, then paused, stunned by what she saw in his eyes. He didn't trust her. He still didn't trust her. She had always know that trust would take time, but would it take forever? How long would she have to wait? The pain which had been simmering inside her for months, since her return, suddenly boiled over. Damn this man. To hell with waiting until he was ready. Advancing on him, eyes dark with anger and hurt, she hissed, "How many times do I have to save your life, you idiot? Do you think I'm going to gun you down as you sleep? Why can't you, just once, trust me?"  
  
Jack, standing open-mouthed at her onslaught, looked as if he had been slapped. "Trust you?" he roared back. "I did trust you once, remember? Or have you forgotten how you left me after 10 years of lies with nothing?"  
  
"Nothing?" shouted Irina, white-lipped. "Nothing? I gave you the most precious thing I had! I.gave.you.Sydney!"  
  
"What do you mean, you gave me Sydney?" said Jack, eyes glinting dangerously.  
  
"Did you even *once* consider that I could have taken Sydney with me? That I was encouraged to take Sydney with me? And wonder why I didn't?" Irina spoke slowly, as if to a child.  
  
"You didn't love her," Jack hurled back. But even as he said it, he could feel a niggling of doubt in the back of his mind. That's what he'd believed at the time. Having seen Irina's reaction to Sydney over the last couple of months, he wasn't so certain.  
  
"DIDN'T LOVE HER?!" Irina was shaking with fury. She pulled out the gun, put on the safety, and flung it at Jack. "Take it," she spat. "I'll murder you with my bare hands, it you're not careful." She stalked off to the other side of the room. 


	9. Chapter 8 Peace

Jack, stunned, watched her stalk across the room. There could be no doubting the reality of Irina's anger, but it didn't make sense. Any of it. "Irina!" he called after her retreating form.  
  
"Stay away from me," she snarled, not turning around, then cursed him in Russian. With professional detachment, Jack admired her creativity.  
  
He paused for a moment, considering, watching her pace like a caged tiger. Her temper, on the rare occasions when she had been provoked, had always been fearsome. And sometimes expensive, he recalled, remembering several vases, a window, and a television set which had suffered at her hands. But he also remembered that at those times she had been at her most vulnerable, her thoughts and feelings closest to the surface. If he were ever to learn the truth, it would be now. And he had to learn the truth.  
  
Making his decision, he cautiously crossed to the other side of the room until he was standing behind her. He could see her tense. He readied himself. "Irina," he tried again, reaching out for her arm to turn her towards him. As he expected, Irina grabbed his hand and attempted to flip him over her shoulder. Jack threw his weight back, throwing her off- balance, and spun her so that she faced him while he grabbed both wrists. He recoiled as he saw the blazing anger in her eyes, but steeled himself to continue.  
  
"OK, Irina. Now I'm wondering," Jack challenged. "Why did you leave Sydney with me?"  
  
Irina glared at Jack. She couldn't believe that he couldn't figure it out for himself. How could he deny to himself everything that they had been together for 10 years? She tried to jerk away, but his grip was like iron. As her silence continued, Jack could feel his frustration building and he shook her. "Answer me, dammit!"  
  
Irina hissed back at him, finally goaded to respond. "Because I loved you, you fool! Because I wanted to leave you someone to love when I was gone!" As Jack's grip slackened in shock, Irina shook free of his hold and she turned away, tears spilling down her cheeks.  
  
Jack went very still. "But. you left," he said quietly, reaching out and gently turning her back towards him. "How could you have loved me, and left me?" he finished sadly. He reached out with one hand to smooth away the tears on her cheeks.  
  
"I could not have loved you and stayed," whispered Irina. "The life we lead doesn't always give us easy choices, Jack. They would have killed you." She buried her face in his shoulder. He heard her muffled voice continue, "I chose to save your life that day. I would choose it again."  
  
Jack was speechless. 10 years of his life living one lie, and now, he realized, 20 years of his life living another. Truth in an abandoned building in a nameless city in a foreign country. Irina in his arms. He looked down at the woman he embraced, the woman who had made and destroyed everything that he was.  
  
"Irina, I-," and he stopped, as words seemed so hopelessly inadequate. He reached down and cupped her chin in his hand, and tenderly brushed her lips. "I have always loved you," he finished, his voice rough with emotion. And he knew in an instant that the words, once spoken, could not be recalled. That he stood before her, absolutely vulnerable. That he had just trusted this woman, whom he had sworn to never trust again, with his innermost secret.  
  
Irina looked into Jack's eyes, her cheeks streaked with tears. She saw his turmoil, his love, his vulnerability, and quailed at taking responsibility for this man's soul again. Her path, her future, lay in shadows. She did not know which choices she would be faced with, what compromises she would need to make on her journey. Would she need to betray him once more? Would he, too, be sucked into the maelstrom of her life? She reached a hand up to his cheek, and said gently, "Whatever happens, Jack, know that I will always love you, too."  
  
Reaching her hand around to the back of his neck, she pulled his lips back down to hers, their kiss no longer tender but insistent, urgent. Raw, intoxicating need surged through Jack, threatening to overwhelm him. Irina's eyes, dark with desire, reflected back at him. Pulling his lips away from hers, he swept her up in his arms, crossed the room and, going down on his knees, gently deposited her on the mattress.  
  
Their lovemaking had been many things over the years - passionate, playful, rough, tender - but never before had their hunger so engulfed them as it did that night. As if 20 years of passion could be distilled into each touch, each caress. As if, thought Irina sadly, it might be a long time before they could hold each other again. Jack had finally fallen into a deep slumber, trying to catch several hours of rest before they moved out again. Irina sat watching him, trying to memorize every feature. She reached out to stroke his cheek, and he smiled in his sleep. 


	10. Chapter 9 Rendezvous

Jack and Irina crept uphill through the pre-dawn darkness toward the extraction point. Jack was tense - they had had to dodge two patrols on the way, an unusual level of activity. As they reached the edge of the clearing where they were to meet the CIA helicopter, he saw Irina pause and hold up her hand, listening. Stopping in his tracks, he listened too, and heard what Irina had heard. Silence. No birds, no night snuffling sounds. Alarmed now, he attempted to peer through the gloom, but could see nothing.  
  
Irina, still listening, picked up the whomp-whomp-whomp of the helicopter's rotors as it approached. She looked around carefully. Still no movement. The helicopter came into sight, flying low and fast. It swooped in and swiftly touched down. Protocol demanded minimum time on the ground, where the helicopter was unable to maneuver. At a signal from Jack, they both stood up and raced towards it.  
  
And stopped abruptly as a flash of light streaked from the opposite side of the clearing and the helicopter exploded in a ball of flame. Jack cursed viciously. They had walked into a trap. Sloane had somehow managed to get access to their mission plan - which couldn't have been too difficult, considering how many people were involved, he thought to himself savagely. In the middle of the clearing, framed against the light from the flames, they were visible to anyone who might be watching.  
  
Jack grabbed Irina's hand and they dove back into the underbrush. They had to get make their way back to the city and regroup. Maybe, he grimaced, use some of Irina's contacts. They dodged and ran as bullets flew over them, oblivious to the branches whipping their faces. Irina was in front, trying to work a path through the thick vegetation, Jack in back, covering their retreat. They had not had much of a head start, and he could hear their pursuers close behind. He turned and fired twice to slow their progress. He scowled - with only one gun, and no spare ammunition, he might be throwing rocks soon.  
  
As they ran, he calmly he assessed their options. The shots he had fired had bought them time, but had also pinpointed their location. He could hear other pursuers converging towards them. Many more than the 3 bullets he had left. He realized with a start why the bullets aimed at them were flying high - they must be under orders not to harm them. Harm her, Jack corrected himself, looking at Irina; she would be of little use to Arvin dead. He must find a way to keep her away from Sloane.  
  
"Irina!" she heard him whisper urgently. "We need to split up. Head off that way," he gestured uphill, "and circle back to the building. I'll lead them off this way," gesturing downhill, "and meet you there." Irina stopped and looked at him blankly. What kind of plan was that? She could count the number of people behind them as well as he could. "Irina, there's no time!" Jack hissed. "Go! You. must. not. be. captured!"  
  
Suddenly, with a sickening lurch, Irina understood. Unfamiliar terrain, no firepower, a large number of pursuers. Jack had worked out all the options, and concluded that capture was inevitable. They only had to choose whether it would be one of them or both. And Jack had chosen. The only logical choice. He knew that it was unlikely he would meet back up with her. Ever. He was trusting her to complete her journey. Alone.  
  
Numbly, Irina nodded. They were professionals, and this was the right decision. The one which, had their positions been reversed, she would have made. "Irina!" said Jack frantically, willing her to move, as their pursuers closed in. Fighting back tears, she embraced him, then turned and ran.  
  
Jack watched her go with relief. He had seen the dawning realization in her eyes of what he was asking her to do, and had been afraid she would refuse. He stifled his feelings of regret, of wondering what might have been. Those were a luxury he could no longer afford. They had had last night, and that would have to be enough.  
  
He could hear footsteps now. Sighing, Jack waited until they were almost upon him. Then, making as much noise as possible, he sprinted off downhill. 


	11. Chapter 10 Chase

Chapter 11

Jack ran hard and fast.  Dawn had broken and he could now see where he was going.  No longer constrained by trying to be stealthy, he was able to maintain his distance from those that chased him.  He dodged and wove, knowing that it would confuse them and make it harder to be outflanked.  At one point, he stopped and carefully picked off the two lead pursuers.  They were much more careful after that.  

Jack heard a crackle of static to his left, then a crackle to his right.  His heart sank.  The pursuit was becoming more coordinated.  He could see the outskirts of the city in the gaps of the foliage ahead of him, but it seemed impossibly far.  The pursuers now followed and flanked him, but were not attempting to close the gap.  Almost as if…

He crashed through the underbrush, into a clearing, then skidded to a halt as he saw the guns.

…he was being herded into a trap.  He was surrounded.  Chest heaving painfully, he felt a grim satisfaction.  He had bought Irina another hour.  He had foiled Sloane again.  It was enough.  Slowly, for the second time in 24 hours, he raised his hands.  

Jack scanned the faces of the gunmen surrounding him, but couldn't pick out Sloane.  Jack wasn't surprised.  Sloane was a cautious man, and caution dictated that he shouldn't be in the same area as Jack while Jack was carrying a loaded gun. With regret, he allowed himself to be frisked and cuffed.  The gunmen looked confused and angry that only one person had been caught.  One of them approached and snapped with menace, "Where's the woman?"  Jack shrugged noncommittally.  The longer he could draw this out, the more time he could give her.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of metal the second before it crashed into his jaw.  He staggered, but remained upright.  He didn't see the second hit, a rifle butt to his kidney, and crumpled to the ground in pain

As he lay there gasping, readying himself for the next blow, he heard another set of footsteps approach.  "Don't waste your time," he heard Arvin Sloane say drily.  "By the time you get any information out of him, she'll be halfway around the world." 

Sloane stepped away briefly to confer with his men. "Form a perimeter around this area and seal it off so that she won't escape," Jack heard him snap.  "She can't have gone more than a few miles.  Use whatever resources you need."

Jack tensed.  How many resources did Sloane have in this god-forsaken country?

As the gunmen scrambled into their vehicles and roared off, Sloane turned back to Jack.  Jack's vision was slowly clearing and he could see Sloane leaning down in front of him, his face framed by the sun, so that all he could see of Sloane's face was a black shadow.  

"Well, Jack, has she left you again?" Sloane taunted.  "You gullible fool.  Do you have any idea how many men she's used as dupes?  Of course, most of them don't fall for it a second time," he sneered.  Sloane paused, to let his words sink in.  To let the poison slowly eat away at him.  Laura/Irina had always been Jack's Achilles heel.

Jack's hands flexed convulsively against his restraints.  He wished, more than anything else, for a chance to strangle this man with his bare hands.

"Of course, Jack, the irony is that she'll eventually join me anyway.  The power she'll gain will be too great for her to pass up.  And then this pathetic sacrifice of yours will be meaningless."  Sloane cocked an eyebrow at Jack.  "However," he hissed softly, "I'm sure we could come to an arrangement if you'd be willing to reconsider and tell us where we might find her now."

Sloane thought he knew him so well.  

"F*ck you," Jack said, slowly and precisely.  What a pleasure it was to thwart him one last time.

Sloane's face momentarily contorted with rage, then smoothed back out.  "Fine Jack, have it your way," he said coldly.  Jack tensed as he saw the pistol rise, aimed at his head.  He closed his eyes, saw Irina's face, felt her touch, heard her voice.  Take care of Sydney, he thought.


	12. Chapter 11 Deal

Chapter 11

A/N: Irina's POV, in italics, is overlaid on Jack's POV from the previous chapter.

Jack ran hard and fast.  Dawn had broken and he could now see where he was going.  No longer constrained by trying to be stealthy, he was able to maintain his distance from those that chased him.  He dodged and wove, knowing that it would confuse them and make it harder to be outflanked.  At one point, he stopped and carefully picked off the two lead pursuers.  They were much more careful after that.

_Weeping, Irina made her way soundlessly uphill.  She could hear the sounds of the chase veering away from her, becoming more distant.  She crept out onto a bluff to get her bearings.  She would need to plan carefully to return to the city undetected.  She could not bear to think beyond that point._

Jack heard a crackle of static to his left, then a crackle to his right.  His heart sank.  The pursuit was becoming more coordinated.  He could see the outskirts of the city in the gaps of the foliage ahead of him, but it seemed impossibly far.  The pursuers now followed and flanked him, but were not attempting to close the gap.  Almost as if…

He crashed through the underbrush, into a clearing, then skidded to a halt as he saw the guns.

…he was being herded into a trap.  He was surrounded.  Chest heaving painfully, he felt a grim satisfaction.  He had bought Irina another hour.  He had foiled Sloane again.  It was enough.  Slowly, for the second time in 24 hours, he raised his hands.

_Irina found that she had an unimpeded view of Jack's pursuit down below.  She knew she should be putting as much distance between herself and them as possible, but was riveted to the spot.  Her heart in her mouth, she watched as groups moved in on either side of him, pacing him, blocking his avenues of escape.  Looking ahead, she could see_ _what Jack could not – a road, with vehicles parked and gunmen waiting.  A sob rose in her throat.  It would not be long before they surrounded him.  Before Sloane realized that he was alone, and started searching for her.  Before Sloane…killed him.  For doublecrossing him, one more time.  For playing him for a fool._

Jack scanned the faces of the gunmen surrounding him, but couldn't pick out Sloane.  Jack wasn't surprised.  Sloane was a cautious man, and caution dictated that he shouldn't be in the same area as Jack while Jack was carrying a loaded gun. With regret, he allowed himself to be frisked and cuffed.  The gunmen looked confused and angry that only one person had been caught.  One of them approached and snapped with menace, "Where's the woman?"  Jack shrugged noncommittally.  The longer he could draw this out, the more time he could give her.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of metal the second before it crashed into his jaw.  He staggered, but remained upright.  He didn't see the second hit, a rifle butt to his kidney, and crumpled to the ground in pain.__

_Despair washed over her. Dark, bottomless, unending.  Was this what Jack had felt when he thought she had died?  When he thought she was gone forever?_

_Dully, Irina contemplated her future.  Alone.  Jack dead. Sydney estranged.  No chance of redemption.  Operating in a shadowy underworld, with no one to trust, no one she could turn to.  And always knowing that she had allowed Jack to be just another casualty of her journey, buying her time to escape.  Knowing that there had been another option, one which never would have occurred to him._

_Could she betray him again?_

_And suddenly she knew.  Knew that to betray Jack, now, was to betray herself forever.  And that she could not bear the cost.  She leapt to her feet and flew down the hill._

As he lay there gasping, readying himself for the next blow, he heard another set of footsteps approach.  "Don't waste your time," he heard Arvin Sloane say drily.  "By the time you get any information out of him, she'll be halfway around the world." 

Sloane stepped away briefly to confer with his men. "Form a perimeter around this area and seal it off so that she won't escape," Jack heard him snap.  "She can't have gone more than a few miles.  Use whatever resources you need."

Jack tensed.  How many resources did Sloane have in this god-forsaken country?

As the gunmen scrambled into their vehicles and roared off, Sloane turned back to Jack.  Jack's vision was slowly clearing and he could see Sloane leaning down in front of him, his face framed by the sun, so that all he could see of Sloane's face was a black shadow. 

"Well, Jack, has she left you again?" Sloane taunted.  "You gullible fool.  Do you have any idea how many men she's used as dupes?  Of course, most of them don't fall for it a second time," he sneered.  Sloane paused, to let his words sink in.  To let the poison slowly eat away at him.  Laura/Irina had always been Jack's Achilles heel.

Jack's hands flexed convulsively against his restraints.  He wished, more than anything else, for a chance to strangle this man with his bare hands.

_Faster and faster Irina came.  Her feet barely touched the ground.  She prayed she would be in time._

 "Of course, Jack, the irony is that she'll eventually join me anyway.  The power she'll gain will be too great for her to pass up.  And then this pathetic sacrifice of yours will be meaningless."  Sloane cocked an eyebrow at Jack.  "However," he hissed softly, "I'm sure we could come to an arrangement if you'd be willing to reconsider and tell us where we might find her now."

Sloane thought he knew him so well. 

"F*ck you," Jack said, slowly and precisely.  What a pleasure it was to thwart him one last time.

Sloane's face momentarily contorted with rage, then smoothed back out.  "Fine Jack, have it your way," he said coldly.  Jack tensed as he saw the pistol rise, aimed at his head.  He closed his eyes, saw Irina's face, felt her touch, heard her voice.  Take care of Sydney, he thought.

_"Sloane."  One word, quiet but carrying.  Sloane whipped around as Irina walked towards him, hands raised. He turned back, sneering triumphantly at Jack, whose eyes had snapped open in disbelief._

_"Irina Derevko."  Sloane's voice did not have quite the level of warmth as it had had on their previous meeting.  Not surprising given the way their last meeting had ended.  "Stay where you are," he commanded.  He motioned to one of the gunmen, who handcuffed Irina as well.  He looked at her greedily.  "Thank you for saving me the effort of hunting you down."_

_Jack stared at Irina, dumbstruck.  She should be 5 miles from here, he thought to himself.  What was she doing? Unless she had hidden an Army Ranger unit in the trees, she was unlikely to be able to blast them out.  And she wasn't going to be able to talk them out. Or buy them out.  In fact, he couldn't see any options which would have led her to appear in the clearing.  He resisted the thought that Sloane might be right.  He must be missing something. _

_"I have a business proposition for you, Arvin" said Irina coolly, glancing at Jack, then back at Sloane.  He wasn't seriously hurt, she thought with relief._

_Jack  concentrated again, trying to examine the options from her perspective. "Whatever happens, remember I love you," she had whispered.  Suddenly, appalled realization swept him as he deduced what she was about to do.  "Good God, Irina, NO!" he shouted._

_Sloane waved his hand in Jack's direction and a rifle butt hit his mid-section, effectively cutting off anything else he had planned to say._

_"You are in no position to negotiate, Irina" Sloane responded reflexively._

_Irina waited patiently for him to reconsider.  Sloane was not a fool.  Her position was unassailable.  She ignored the pleading in Jack's eyes._

_"What is your proposal?" Sloane ground out eventually._

_"Full cooperation.  Access to my network.  Two Rambaldi artifacts that you are not aware of."_

_"And in return?"  Sloane had difficulty keeping the eagerness out of his voice._

_"Jack."_


	13. Chapter 12 Return

The negotiations had been long and detailed. By mutual agreement, they were conducted out of Jack's hearing. Jack was to be escorted back to US soil. Sloane was to cease any and all attempts on his life. Unless, of course, Jack pursued him, in which case all bets were off. The first artifact would be delivered when Jack called in from the US. The second would be delivered in 3 months, following a second phone call from Jack. It was a compromise both parties could live with.  
  
The third party in the transaction sat in the coach section of the LA flight, brooding. His forbidding manner had already routed 2 flight attendants who had attempted cheery chatter with the handsome gentleman in 12C. Three rows in front, and two rows behind, sat his two beefy minders, intent on making sure that he went directly back to LA and made his first phone call. Sloane did not want any delays.  
  
Jack's thoughts were bleak as he reviewed the outcome of the mission. The price Irina had paid for his life seemed unreasonably high. He had been appalled when he had realized the choice she had made. Sloane, with a consolidated power base and full access to the Rambaldi legacy. The CIA now with nothing - no leads, no double agents, none of Irina's intel - with which to combat Sloane. Irina would be on her own.  
  
Jack's departure from Irina had been brief. She had visited him in the windowless room where they held him shortly before he had left. There had been neither recriminations nor apologies. Their life did not always provide them easy choices; each had made the only choice he could. Irina had explained the arrangement to Jack; Jack had merely nodded. She had bought him 3 months. He wouldn't waste it. Observed by Sloane's men, there had been no embrace, no endearments. Their eyes had conveyed everything that needed to be said. I love you. Be careful.  
  
By this time, thought Jack, Irina and Sloane would be long gone. Untraceable. Cautiously trading information, testing each other, making plans. Jack smiled grimly to himself. Sloane might soon learn that you had to be careful what you asked for - having Irina as a partner would be like holding onto the tail of a tiger. He chuckled to himself, his face lightening for the first time since the previous night. The analogy explained so much of his life.  
  
He lay back in the seat cushions and closed his eyes. She had saved his life, again. To do so she had left him, again. The parallels with her disappearance 20 years ago were undeniable. But this time, there was a difference.  
  
This time, he knew she was out there. And knew that she loved him.  
  
This time, he would go find her 


	14. Chapter 13 Home

A/N: The original fic ended at Chapter 12. Part II was written subsequently (although prior to ADT), and closes out this universe. *******  
  
Jack stood impatiently at the airport phone, waiting for the call. It was a busy Monday evening and there were many travelers attempting to use the phones. His escort, however, managed to keep Jack's free by staring menacingly at anyone that tried to approach. When it finally rang, he snatched it up with irritation.  
  
"Bristow."  
  
"Jack, I have someone here that would like to talk to you." Jack's hand clenched the phone tighter as he heard Sloane's mocking voice.  
  
"Jack?" He closed his eyes as he heard Irina's voice. Where was she? God, how he missed her already.  
  
"Yes," he responded brusquely, trying to cover his emotions.  
  
"You're at the airport? And ok?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Who was Sydney's best friend in kindergarten?"  
  
"What?" Jack was startled. That was certainly not one of the conversation topics he had anticipated. "That obnoxious boy down the street. Freddie. The one that always wanted to hold her hand."  
  
"Right." He heard the relief in her voice, and understood. She was verifying that he was who he said he was. And letting Sloane know he couldn't pull a fast one in 3 months.  
  
"Irina -,"  
  
"Sorry Jack, conversation's over. I'm paying, after all," interjected Sloane. Jack heard a click at the other end of the line. Bastard. He slumped dejectedly against the phone for a moment, then straightened up.  
  
He looked over at his minders. "Now what?" he said evenly.  
  
"See you in 3 months," one of them grunted. And they both turned on their heels and departed.  
  
Jack watched them go with pleasure, then realized he was penniless. With a sigh, he picked up the phone again. "Collect call, please. 213-867-5564 to Sydney Bristow. From Jack Bristow."  
  
** Irina hung up, her face not betraying any of the inner turmoil she felt. Relief that Jack was safe. Dejected that she was on her own, once more.  
  
"You've had your phone call. Where's the artifact?" said Sloane impatiently.  
  
Irina glanced at him in irritation. She was going to need to take Arvin down a peg or two.  
  
"First we'll need to activate my network. Then we'll use them to collect the artifact."  
  
"No, the artifact first." Sloane glared at Irina. Irina stared back, unconcerned.  
  
"It's pointless to give you the coordinates. Your people will botch the job. I'm not responsible if they are unable to retrieve it."  
  
Sloane ground his teeth in frustration. "Fine," he spat out. "But if you double-cross me, I'll kill you and Jack both."  
  
"Don't threaten me, Arvin," said Irina coldly. "I'm your partner, not your employee. If you didn't need me, you wouldn't have made this deal." She locked gazes with Sloane. He glanced away first.  
  
**  
  
Sydney looked curiously at her father as she threaded her way through traffic. She had been surprised to get his phone call, stunned to find he was at the airport with no id and no cash, and alarmed to find that he was without her mother. His only words to her so far had been, "Don't worry, your mother's fine." He certainly looked the worse for wear - but there was no penetrating his mood. She had dropped him off at his apartment and then returned to work.  
  
Jack turned on the hot water and adjusted the shower head until needles of water pulsed against his aching muscles. Cautiously he checked himself out; besides a number of multi-color bruises, he appeared to be fine. He tried to suppress the memory of Irina's cool fingers against his skin, stroking his chest. Unsuccessfully. He took a deep breath and turned the water to cold. She was counting on him; he needed to concentrate.  
  
He changed quickly and drove into the Ops Center. Best to get the mission debrief out of the way as soon as possible. It was likely to be ugly. 


	15. Chapter 14 Debrief

The debrief session had been convened as soon as Jack had reported in. Kendall, Vaughn, and 4 other senior analysts were present. Jack was relieved to see that Sydney was occupied elsewhere. Jack had given a carefully edited version of the mission and its outcomes, but there was no editing the fact that the mission had been an abject failure.  
  
"Let's see if I can summarize this, Agent Bristow," said Kendall. "Your mission was to retrieve a Rambaldi artifact and return. Instead, we lost 2 Marine helicopter pilots, freed the only asset we had with reliable intel on Rambaldi, and handed Sloane everything he needs to achieve his objectives. Does that just about capture it?" he finished testily.  
  
Jack's jaw tensed. It appeared to have slipped Kendall's mind that Jack had questioned the wisdom of the mission in the first place. "You left out that the mission plan was flawed from the start, and that we were compromised before we landed," he said tersely.  
  
"Is there anything else you'd care to add to your report?" It was obvious to Kendall that Jack had excised portions of the story from his account. His decisions did not stack up with the facts as presented.  
  
"No."  
  
Kendall glowered at him for a moment, then made a decision. "Alright. Everybody, we're going to take a break, and reconvene in an hour."  
  
When the group reconvened, Jack was surprised to see that Devlin had joined the meeting. He had not been heavily involved in Alliance ops for months.  
  
"Agent Bristow," Kendall began, taking over the debriefing from the analysts, "I'd like to review a couple of the points you covered earlier. I've asked Director Devlin to join us as I'd appreciate his opinion as well." Jack glanced over at Devlin, who was looking at him impassively. Not much help likely from that direction, thought Jack.  
  
"Jack, you've stated that you believe that the ambush at your extraction point was a result of a leak in the mission plan. Was Irina Derevko aware of the extraction location and time at any point prior to your rendezvous?"  
  
Jack could see where this was going. "Yes," he calmly, "but she had no opportunity to communicate it to anyone else."  
  
"So at no point were you separated?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Did you fall asleep at any point?"  
  
"Yes, I slept for two hours."  
  
"This was after you removed the C4 necklace?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And as she could no longer be tracked, Ms. Derevko was restrained during that time?"  
  
Jack's heart sank. "No," he said quietly.  
  
"So, for all you know, she could have contacted Sloane and alerted him to the pickup?"  
  
"She didn't do that."  
  
"Answer the question."  
  
"Yes, it would have been possible for her to do that," he admitted.  
  
"Thank you. Now, you stated that when you were trying to escape from the ambush at the extraction point that you considered all options, and determined that the best course was to lead them away from Ms. Derevko."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Could you tell me what other options you considered?"  
  
"We could have stayed together. My assessment was, given the number of individuals pursuing us, that capture was inevitable. Staying together would have only guaranteed that Sloane had access to Derevko's intel."  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
"I could chosen to escape and allow Ms. Derevko to be captured. This had the same flaw as the previous option."  
  
"So you believed your priority was to prevent Sloane from gaining access to Derevko's intel?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Any other options you considered?"  
  
"There were no other options."  
  
"Let's just think together for a moment, Agent Bristow, shall we? You were escorting the head of an international crime syndicate, who possessed information that, in the wrong hands, was prejudicial in the extreme to the interests of the United States. Who had been charged with murder and treason. Who had not the slightest interest in returning to CIA custody."  
  
"What are you suggesting?"  
  
"Had it been anyone else, you would have shot him through the head before allowing him to collaborate with Sloane."  
  
There was an oppressive silence in the room. Jack's reputation for ruthlessness, for making tough decisions in high-pressure situations, was well known.  
  
"I didn't," he began haltingly, "I didn't believe Irina would join forces with Sloane."  
  
"But you were wrong, weren't you?"  
  
Pause.  
  
"Answer the question."  
  
"Yes." 


	16. Chapter 15 Debrief, contd

"Thank you, Agent Bristow," said Kendall, his glance flickering over to Devlin. "Now, would you mind telling me why you believe Ms. Derevko turned herself into Sloane?"  
  
Pause. "I believe she wanted to save my life."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Jack's stomach knotted. He had been dreading this question. He could still hear himself, 20 years ago, declaring to a skeptical interrogation team, "She loves me." Their derisive laughter as they had shown him the pictures of her meetings with her handlers. He didn't answer.  
  
"Did you consider that the whole thing was a set-up? That Ms. Derevko was trying to have it both ways? You, at the CIA, feeding her information while she and Sloane work together?"  
  
"That's not her plan."  
  
"What is her plan?"  
  
Pause. "I don't know."  
  
"You don't really have a great track record at reading Ms. Derevko's intentions, do you, Agent Bristow?" The room became deathly quiet. Jack noticed that no one would make eye contact with him.  
  
Kendall looked over at Devlin and received a slight nod. "Agent Bristow, did you have intimate relations with Ms. Derevko while on this mission?"  
  
"What?!" Jack snarled.  
  
"The question is self-explanatory. While you were on this mission did you have intimate relations with Irina Derevko?"  
  
"None of your business," snapped Jack.  
  
"Agent Vaughn," said Kendall.  
  
Vaughn's head jerked up. He had been staring at his desk in dismay. It was clear that Jack had been played for a fool again by Irina. Sydney would be devastated.  
  
"Agent Vaughn, what is the first rule between a handler and his asset?"  
  
Vaughn felt like a deer caught in the headlights, trapped between simultaneous death glares from both Bristow and Kendall.  
  
"Agent Vaughn?" Devlin prompted.  
  
Vaughn swallowed. "To maintain a professional distance. To avoid any emotional attachment which might affect the handler's ability to make difficult decisions when required to do so." He felt the sweat dripping down his back.  
  
"Thank you," said Kendall with satisfaction. "Agent Bristow, let me repeat the question. Did you have intimate relations with your asset, Irina Derevko, while on this assignment?"  
  
Jack, white-lipped and sick with fury, said nothing.  
  
Kendall glanced over at Devlin again, a palpable "I told you so" look on his face. "We're done here," he concluded, looking around the room.  
  
Jack stalked out. On his way, Kendall called out, "Bristow. My office. 15 minutes."  
  
Jack walked blindly into the nearest empty room he could find and closed the door. He sank down into the closest chair and put his head into his hands. Echoes from his interrogation 20 years ago echoed in his head. 'You must have known.' 'She played you for a fool, Bristow.' 'Surely at some point you became suspicious.' 'She never loved you, you sap.' Could they be right? Had she done it to him again? He had been so confident in her. He had believed in her. He wasn't sure what to think anymore. Wearily he got to his feet and headed in to see Kendall.  
  
Kendall studied Jack as he came in. A legend in the CIA. Fearless, ruthless, brilliant. Crippled by his relationship with a Russian spy as fearless, ruthless, and brilliant as himself. The most generous interpretation of Jack's actions on this mission was that he had made judgment errors that had harmed the long-term interests of the United States.  
  
"Agent Bristow, I have asked to have you reassigned," Kendall began without preamble. "I believe your objectivity in this matter has been compromised, and represents a threat to our successfully dealing with what has now become a very dangerous situation. You are not, under any circumstances, to have any further contact with this task force or Irina Derevko.  
  
"Go home now. Take the week off, then report back to Devlin with your transfer request. He's assured me that he will do his best to give you your choice."  
  
Kendall paused, to clear his throat. "Jack, in retrospect, it was a mistake for me to assign you to this mission with Ms. Derevko. It was too much to ask of anyone in your situation. Your work here, up until this point has been exemplary." He looked up at Jack. "Forget this happened, Jack. Forget her."  
  
Without a word, Jack turned on his heel and left. 


	17. Chapter 16 Plan

Sydney banged on the door of Jack's apartment. Repeated phone calls had gone unanswered; messages on his machine unreturned. "Dad? Dad, I'm not leaving until you open the door." His car was parked in the driveway. It was obvious that he was home. She was rewarded for her persistence when the door opened, Jack glowering at his daughter.  
  
"I would have thought that it was obvious that I did not want to be disturbed," he said irritably, his eyes softening slightly at his daughter's determined look.  
  
"Dad, are you going to invite me in?" Vaughn had given her an edited version of the debrief. She was worried about him.   
  
Reluctantly, Jack stepped back from the door. Sydney peered around the room, half-expecting to find empty bottles of scotch lying on the floor. She was bewildered when she saw the room littered with maps, books, and reports. A yellow pad, filled with notes, lay on the table. She looked at her father curiously. "What," she said, "are you working on?"  
  
With a rueful glance at his daughter, as if reading her mind, Jack started to clear a space on his couch. Sydney waved him off, grabbed a cushion, and curled up on the floor. She gazed up at him with concern, tinged with affection. Jack felt a sudden surge of gratitude for this daughter who had kept him centered during the dark years, and for the gradually strengthening bonds of love between them.  
  
Jack couldn't remember the drive home from the Ops Center the previous evening. Dazed and perplexed, he had staggered through his apartment door heading straight for the scotch. To clear his mind of the echoes. To drown his confusion. To escape the dread that he had been wrong again.   
  
The phone had rung, but he hadn't bothered to pick it up. It rolled over to his answering machine. "This is 642-9815. Please leave a message at the tone," intoned the machine impersonally. Then he had Sydney's voice. "Dad? It's Sydney. If you're there, pick up the phone...Dad? Dad, whatever happened, I love you. I want to help. Please call." Sydney's voice, reaching out to him, had silenced the echoes. Had helped him recall the magnitude of the gift he had received from Irina. Had reminded him that she had had numerous opportunities to join Sloane, but had only done so when a gun had been pointed at his head. He had poured the scotch down the sink and gone to work.  
  
He looked over at Sydney and hesitated, not knowing where to start. He would need to tell her at some point what he had in mind, but decided to give her the background first. "You heard about the mission, I gather?"  
  
"Yes," she answered cautiously. "I got the sense that your account wasn't... complete. What really happened?" She added hastily, "That you can tell me," reddening slightly.  
  
"It was a setup for Sloane to capture your mother. His intel was good, and they caught us flat-footed at the hotel. He needed Irina, not me. She saved my life the first time by pulling a 'Cuvee' on him." He shared a smile with his daughter. Irina Derevko could be very convincing when she wanted to be. "When we got to the backup extraction point, we were ambushed again. I led them away from Irina, so that Sloane wouldn't capture her. Your mother," said Jack with exasperation, "disagreed with my plan. She exchanged herself for me. She's with Sloane now. The deal," he sighed, "was for her to help him in exchange for my life."  
  
Sydney whistled silently to herself. It was almost as bad as she had heard.  
  
"While we were on the mission, we had an opportunity to talk." He wasn't going to fill in all the blanks, not even for Sydney. "We were able to discuss a number of things more openly, including her reasons for leaving us. Sydney, you need to have this conversation with your mother yourself, but you should know that she loved you very deeply. And still does." He paused, not quite sure how to continue.  
  
Sydney, eyes suddenly full, watched her father's face closely. She had always been able to read the minute shifts in his expressions, and couldn't understand those that couldn't. She read something there that she hadn't seen in a long time. She checked again, to make sure she hadn't imagined it.  
  
"She loved you too," she breathed wonderingly. "You think that she made the deal with Sloane because she loves you." Who was this man in front of her who had taken her father's place? "You couldn't tell them that, could you? Not a second time." Things were starting to fall into place.  
  
Jack looked at her gratefully. He just nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. It was going to take a lot of practice for him to be able to talk openly about her mother.   
  
In a smooth motion, Sydney got to her feet and threw her arms around him. He buried his head in her hair, momentarily overcome. After a moment, Sydney pulled back and looked up at him. Hating herself, but knowing that she owed it to him, she asked tentatively, "Dad. You're sure?" She couldn't bear to see him hurt again.  
  
Finding his voice, Jack said simply, "Yes. She was quite convincing." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he remembered how convincing she had been.  
  
Sydney studied him critically, and was satisfied. "OK, so if you're not wallowing in self-pity here, exactly what," she gestured, her wave encompassing the papers strewn over his apartment, "is all this?"  
  
"Officially, I'm selecting my next assignment."  
  
"And unofficially?"  
  
"Figuring out how to get your mother. I could use your help."  
  
They spent the next 3 hours brainstorming. They had never really worked together on mission design before. Sydney silently admired her father's ability to rapidly evaluate different scenarios; Jack was impressed by Sydney's tactical suggestions. At the end of the long evening, as both stood up and stretched, Jack asked diffidently, "Are you free tomorrow? I should have some more intel by then. I'd appreciate someone to bounce ideas off of."  
  
"I'd love to," Sydney responded, smiling shyly. She passed on the opportunity to inquire what his intel source was, since he was officially off the case.   
  
For the rest of the week the pattern was the same. Each evening they would gather in Jack's apartment and brainstorm strategies and plans. Sometimes Jack cooked; more often, he had been too busy to shop and they worked over takeout food. By the end of the week, Jack was ready. He gave Sydney a big bear hug. They might not see each other for a long time.  
  
He cleared his throat. "Sydney, I'll make sure my affairs are in order before I leave. If anything...happens...everything you'll need will be in my right hand desk drawer." He gave her one last hug. "Thanks for everything, sweetheart."  
  
"Good luck, Dad. Give my love to Mom." 


	18. Chapter 17 Transfer

Irina patted her wig in place. It was good to be out in the field again. She hadn't realized how much she had chafed at the lack of control she had had in her life in CIA custody. Already this week she had traveled to 4 different countries and started up cells that had lain dormant while she was gone. Only one of her lieutenants had been stupid enough to challenge her on her return. He was now at the bottom of the Aegean Sea.  
  
Word that she was back had traveled fast. She could sense the adjustments being made, the shifts in power structures, the realignment of alliances. In the old days, that knowledge alone would have sent a thrill through her. Twenty years ago, without Sydney, without Jack, there had been an emptiness in her life, which she had replaced with an insatiable thirst for power and control. And then Rambaldi. She shivered. She well remembered what it had been like in the grip of that particular obsession. She could almost feel sorry for Sloane.  
  
Now, the thrill was gone. She had started up her network ruthlessly and efficiently, but with no great pleasure. It was a means to an end. It was not the end.  
  
She placed her hand on Sloane's arm, twitched her skirt, and strolled with him into the Sistine chapel. Once past the information desk, they both put on headphones. They looked just like all the others worn by tourists as they toured through the site. Her team had just excavated into the Vatican museum next door. She was monitoring their transmissions.  
  
She paused to admire a particular section of the ceiling fresco, concentrating on the team's commentary as they searched through the archives of the museum. The Catholic Church had been the major repository for art in the 16th century; the Rambaldi artifact she had identified had been part of the estate of a wealthy patron, donated to the Church on his death. It had been catalogued into the collection more than 400 years ago and forgotten. Until today.  
  
The code word was transmitted. The artifact had been located. The team was clearing the building. They had not been detected. She strolled over to Sloane, and they meandered their way out of the building.   
  
***  
  
Sloane was exuberant when Irina handed him the artifact. He had not been convinced that she would hold up her end of the deal; and once he had understood the difficulty in attaining this particular object, he hadn't been confident she could pull it off. He studied her through narrowed eyes, weighing the value of her partnership against the risks of keeping her. He needed to shift the balance a little.  
  
***  
  
At the end of his week off, Jack sat at breakfast at his favorite restaurant, reading the paper. His attention was caught by an article on page 47, detailing a break-in of the Vatican museum. The break-in was significant, but authorities had not been able to identify anything missing of importance. Just some minor 16th objects. He grimaced. Security at the Vatican, home to the treasures of the Catholic Church, was renowned. Irina had not lost her touch.  
  
Betty, the regular waitress, approached his table as he finished, ready to refill his coffee. She prided herself on knowing her customers, and was surprised to see Mr. Bristow looking so disheveled. He was usually quite careful about he way he dressed. She saw him carefully applying a dab of egg to his tie. She cleared her throat, and he looked up guiltily. "Will you be wanting anything else, sir?"  
  
***  
  
Jack walked into Devlin's office. He looked terrible, Devlin thought. Like he had slept in that suit. And what was that on his tie? Rumor was that, the first time his daughter had visited him, he had been passed out drunk on his apartment floor. Being setup twice by Irina Derevko would do that to anyone. He appeared sober enough now, although slightly hung over.   
  
"Jack," said Devlin cautiously. "Welcome back. Have a seat."  
  
Jack sat down heavily.   
  
"How are you feeling? Fit to return to duty?"  
  
"Fine," mumbled Jack, not meeting his eyes.   
  
Devlin shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Bristow had been assigned to a joint taskforce with the FBI. The two agencies, while cordial with each other in public, had an intense rivalry. Bristow's exploits on his last assignment, and the resulting ramifications for the taskforce, had been a huge embarrassment to the CIA. Devlin had spent most of the last week repairing the damage. Devlin needed to make Bristow someone else's problem soon, or it would start affecting his own career.  
  
"Have you given any thought to where you'd like your next assignment to be?" he asked. Preferably someplace far away, thought Devlin. His wish was granted.  
  
"Is there still a posting available in Algeria?" Jack asked shakily.  
  
"Algeria?" Devlin asked incredulously. "As in the French Foreign Legion?" He hurriedly corrected himself, as he realized the implications of what he had just said. "I'm sorry, Jack. Did you say Algeria?"  
  
"Algeria," replied Jack, a little more firmly. "I had heard that there was a need for some experienced CIA operatives to assist with joint training exercises."  
  
"Aren't you a little, um, overqualified for that assignment?"  
  
"Devlin, I just need some time away. From here. From everything," Jack said, with a trace of desperation in his voice.  
  
The man looked like a wreck. He was obviously devastated by his wife's betrayal. His vaunted reputation was in tatters - the CIA was not an organization that tolerated the same mistake twice. And frankly, it didn't appear that he was emotionally or mentally fit to handle anything more challenging than driving himself to work.  
  
Devlin smiled. Algeria might be just perfect. 


	19. Chapter 18 Transfer, contd

Sydney walked into the meeting room at the Ops Center, a couple of minutes late. All conversation ceased, then gradually picked up again uneasily. She sighed to herself. It had been like this for weeks. They had undoubtedly been discussing her parents again. Intel was reporting that her mother's network was fully operational. There were some unconfirmed suspicions that she might have been involved in the Vatican museum robbery. Security tapes were being reviewed now to see if they could pick up her image.  
  
Her father had warned her that his actions would not be interpreted in a very favorable light within the Joint Task Force. That, Sydney thought, was putting it mildly. Walking through the hall one day, she had overheard him referred to as "Brisd'oh" by a new analyst. Gritting her teeth, she had walked on, resisting the impulse to snap the analyst's neck in half. She had promised her father that she'd ignore the comments; he'd pointed out that, if anything, his reputation was going to get worse before it got better. It was going to be a long couple of months.  
  
***  
  
Sloane looked up as Irina came into the room. Her face was composed as always. She did not, of course, have any weapons with her. No one entered Sloane's presence armed. Particularly Irina. He decided it was time to help her understand where her true interests lay.  
  
"Congratulations are in order, my dear."  
  
Irina just lifted a brow at Arvin.  
  
"You've just been admitted to a very exclusive club. I've received word that the CIA has issued a termination order for you." He watched her closely and was rewarded by a slight paling.  
  
"You're lying."  
  
Sloane understood. He had been gratified when he had first appreciated that Irina might have a weakness, and that it was Jack. It was always helpful to know which buttons to push. "You know, Jack may have had time to reflect. You betrayed him before. Maybe he believes you've done it again?"  
  
Irina said nothing.  
  
"You'll mostly find it an inconvenience. You may want to increase your security," he finished maliciously.  
  
Gritting her teeth, Irina responded, "I appreciate your concern." How dare he suggest that Jack had anything to do with this? She turned to leave, but couldn't resist a parting shot.  
  
"Love to Emily." The expression on Sloane's face cheered her up as she left.  
  
***  
  
Jack was assigned to the Algerian embassy staff as a cultural attaché. This was, of course, a cover for the CIA. Not one that particularly fit Jack Bristow. But it suited his purposes.  
  
The CIA station chief had not been overly welcoming. He had been thoroughly briefed and his orders were clear. Bristow would reach early retirement in 2 years; in the meantime he was to be kept out of trouble. 


	20. Chapter 19 Betrayal

Jack settled quickly into his routine in his new role. He assumed training responsibilities, working with the local security organization. He made contacts with old associates. He earned a reputation as a moody, irritable loner (which, he acknowledged to himself, did not take much effort). He appeared at work irregularly, frequently hungover. And he developed a pattern of long unexplained absences.  
  
The station chief complained bitterly to his superior, but was overruled. Bristow had served well for over 30 years. He wasn't causing any harm where he was. They'd have to make the best of it. A memo was place in Bristow's file, noting the disciplinary infractions, but no further action was taken.  
  
Jack used the unexplained absences to advantage. He had a lot of work to do.  
  
***  
  
Irina was worried. She had had no contact from Jack in two months. Her sources had told her that he was now in Algeria, but it seemed that he was no longer associated with the Joint Taskforce. How was he going to help her take down Sloane if he wasn't on the inside?  
  
She also planned to give him an earful about the CIA's termination order. She had been fired on twice, in suspicious circumstances. She no longer doubted Sloane that an order had been filed - and she had increased her security precautions - but it angered her that she had to watch over her shoulder for the CIA at the same time she was watching Sloane.  
  
Sloane was a source of increasing concern. His behavior was becoming more erratic. The closer he seemed to be getting to Rambaldi, the more obsessed he was becoming. Fortunately, he was still missing some key pieces. She intended to keep it that way.  
  
It was with relief that she finally received communication from Jack. He wanted to meet. Mindful of her security precautions, she verified that the transmission was authentic. It was.  
  
***  
  
The docks of Marseilles are a dreary place in the evening. The hustle of the day is replaced by a seedy, unkempt air, overlaid by the smell of rotting fish. Irina, for once without her bodyguards, moved cautiously through the gloom toward the abandoned building at the end of the pier. It was a good place to meet, Irina thought. There was much furtive scurrying throughout the docks - drug dealers, prostitutes - one more would not be noticed. It was a place where anonymity was assured.  
  
She glanced up, and saw him leaning against the railing, huddled in an overcoat, hat pulled low. Her pace quickened. She chuckled to herself. She had gone for 20 years without him once; now 2 months seemed like an eternity.  
  
She almost missed it. The very faint click of a rifle being cocked. A flash from the reflection of light off a gun barrel. Instinctively, she dove for safety, as the air around her exploded in gunfire. She had spotted the trap just before it closed. In a panic, she looked for Jack. Had he reached cover in time? The sight that greeted her eyes made her blood run cold. He was casually conferring with one of the gunmen, giving orders, pointing in her direction. Pointing to where she was hidden. Blind with fury, she ran before they could finish the job.  
  
***  
  
Sloane noticed an immediate change in Irina. A slight tensing about the lips. A blankness in her eyes. If anything, an increase in her efficiency, as she drove herself relentlessly.  
  
He had, of course, received reports of the attempts on her life. How disillusioning it must be, he thought snidely, to be betrayed by someone you loved.  
  
It was time to give her a bigger role. 


	21. Chapter 20 Rafir

The guard pulled back the tent flap and waved Irina and her entourage in. She stopped as she crossed into the interior, her eyes adjusting to the dim light within. Silks adorned the walls, pillows and cushions the floor. Another guard moved up to her and patted her down, ensuring that she was bringing no weapons into the presence of the rafir. As her eyes continued to travel around the tent, she discerned a cluster of men grouped around a table, eating and drinking. The elderly man in the center appeared to be the leader. She studied him carefully. Face shrouded in fabric, dark skinned, lined with age, but still emanating an unmistakable aura of power and command.  
  
Rumors about this man were vague. A nomad, with no permanent home, traveling the arid wasteland of the Sahara. A collector of antiquities. A man of considerable means, based on the richness of his surroundings. The owner of a journal reputed to have been written by a Rambaldi protégé. A connoisseur of beautiful women.  
  
Sloane had made contact through intermediaries, and been rebuffed. He had offered the opportunity to Irina, who had snatched it with alacrity. The CIA thought she had been dangerous before? She hadn't even started. She had always been honest with herself - it had kept her sane, during the traumatic years after she had left Sydney and Jack. But she knew that she had not yet begun to deal with the pain of Jack's betrayal. His willingness to have her killed in cold blood. She had saved his life. What had changed? And what did Sydney now believe?  
  
The emptiness yawned within her once more. She was alone again, as alone as she had ever been. She struggled to fight off the darkness, the temptation of absolute power offered by Rambaldi. The ability to control the fates of men. She had only wanted to control one man's fate, and now he stalked her, seeking her death.  
  
The guard coughed twice, and Irina mentally shook herself. The rafir looked up, apparently noticing his visitors for the first time. With a wave, he motioned for them to take places around his table. Irina noticed his eyes wander over her appreciatively. At least one part of their intel had been right, she sighed to herself. Perhaps she could use it to her advantage.  
  
After the niceties had been observed, Irina broached the topic of her mission.  
  
"Discussions on such a topic are, of course, quite delicate. Perhaps we should continue them.alone?" inquired the rafir. He snapped his fingers and his companions rose immediately to leave. He spoke hoarsely in Arabic to his guards.  
  
Old goat, thought Irina impatiently. A rough translation of what he had said was "If we are disturbed for any reason, I'll have your balls cut off and fed to the camels." She saw the hesitation on the faces of her men. With a slight nod, she indicated her assent. She was in no danger from this doddering old man. In short order, they were alone.  
  
"Come closer, my dear," he whispered hoarsely. "I am old, and I no longer hear so well."  
  
She moved closer, gracefully sitting next to him on a cushion, almost touching. He reached out and placed his hand on her thigh. Irina's brows snapped together in irritation, then she froze. That hand. It was familiar. Hands are one of the most difficult parts of the body to disguise.  
  
With a curse, she leapt to her feet, and in one smooth move drew a slim dagger and lunged. "You bastard. You decided to do it yourself?"  
  
Jack rolled out of the way just in time to avoid being gutted. He swore as the knife sliced against his arm. This was not quite the reunion he had envisioned. He jumped to his feet and backed away slowly, at a disadvantage with the voluminous robe he was wearing. "Irina, what are you doing?" he hissed. "It's me!" Where had she hidden that knife?  
  
Irina was shaking with rage. She had trusted this man, and he had tried to kill her. And now she had walked into a trap again. She wouldn't give him another chance. She feinted, then lunged, narrowly missing him. Slowly she circled, looking for an opening. Jack saw the murderous gleam in her eyes and pulled his gun. He had seen her with a knife before. He needed to buy some time.  
  
"Irina, what are you talking about?" he said as she paused, reassessing her odds.  
  
She sneered. "Marseilles. Assassination team. *You* chose the meet. Ring a bell?" She began to circle again. "Pull that trigger and my men will rip you to shreds."  
  
"Irina," Jack pleaded, struggling to make sense of her words. "I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't been to Marseilles."  
  
"Liar. I was almost killed." And I saw you there, she said to herself.  
  
"By whom?" said Jack, sweat beading up on his forehead. He was concentrating on her every move. If she threw that knife, he'd stand very little chance.  
  
"The CIA assassination team. You. It had to be you. No one else would have been able to authenticate that message. Who else would have known where we first met? What your first gift to me was?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You don't think I would just blindly walk into a meet before verifying that it was you? No one else would have known."  
  
With sudden clarity, Jack understood. "You're wrong," he said tightly. "Anyone who had watched my interrogation tapes would know the answers to those questions. And almost anything else about our life together."  
  
He stood up straight, suddenly weary. He couldn't go on this way. They had been manipulated so long by others - would they ever be able to trust each other again? He tossed his gun to her and put his hands in the air. "Trust me or shoot me. It's your choice." 


	22. Chapter 21 Faceoff

Irina caught the gun as it was tossed, startled. She looked at him quickly with suspicion. Was this yet another lie? Would Jack only have one weapon?  
  
Pointing the gun at him she said clearly, "Take off the robe. Keep your hands where I can see them." Jack complied in silence, and kicked it to one side. "Now the rest," she said, waving at his shirt and pants. Cocking an eyebrow at her, Jack complied again, stripping down to his boxers. "Turn around slowly, hands out." Jack turned around, blood dripping slowly from his wounded arm. He had no other weapons.  
  
"Well?" he prompted. God, she looked magnificent, eyes flashing, ready to tear him to pieces.  
  
Relief flooded Irina. He had been telling the truth. She hadn't gotten a clear look at the face of the man in Marseilles - she'd just assumed it had been Jack. And now she was holding a gun on him in a tent in the Sahara while he wore nothing but boxer shorts. The absurdity of the situation hit her, and her eyes began to dance. She could recover later. She was not one to waste an opportunity.  
  
"Take those off as well," she said, waving her pistol at his boxers.  
  
Jack raised both his eyebrows. He had followed the shift in emotions on her face, and accurately discerned her intention. "Afraid I've got a gun in there?" he said suggestively.  
  
"Hard to tell from here," she said with mock severity.  
  
He shrugged. "Person with the gun calls the shots." Slowly he stripped off his shorts. It was *not* a gun, Irina could see, which had been causing that bulge.  
  
She paused, admiringly, then waved the gun again. "Now, kiss me," she commanded.  
  
Grinning, Jack put his hands behind his back and gently brushed her lips.  
  
"What was that?" she complained. "Is that the best you can do?"  
  
"I'll do *exactly* what you tell me to," said Jack, smirking. "After all, you have the gun."  
  
"Kiss me with your tongue," she tried.  
  
Jack stuck his tongue out and licked her lips, then grinned again at Irina's expression of frustration. "You'll need to do better than that," he teased.  
  
"Fine," she snapped, and hurled the pistol at him. "You have the gun."  
  
Jack caught it easily. "Hmm, let's see. First," he said consideringly, "I need to make sure you're not hiding any more knives."  
  
"What," asked Irina innocently, "do you want me to do? *Exactly*?"  
  
The game continued for some time, until they both thought of something better to do. 


	23. Chapter 22 Memories

Irina lay with her head pillowed on Jack's chest, trying to make sense of the last few hours. She had swung from despair to rage to relief to joy to passion; only her feelings for Jack could have whipsawed her so badly. It was a weakness, she knew, in a business where any possible vulnerability was exploited.  
  
She saw herself in her mind's eye lunging for Jack with the dagger. She shuddered. A half second slower and Jack would have died, her knife through his heart. And she might never have known the truth.  
  
Jack felt Irina's shudder and reached up with one arm to cradle her. He knew she was working through the emotions she had carefully compartmentalized. He said nothing; words weren't needed. She knew he was there.  
  
Irina snuggled gratefully into the enveloping warmth, her mind still working. "Jack?"  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
"Who would have had access to those interrogation tapes?" Relieved as she was that Jack had had no hand in the assassination attempts, it did not eliminate her immediate problem. Someone was trying to manipulate her.  
  
Jack tensed beneath her.  
  
Irina rolled over and looked at him, startled by his sudden shift in mood.  
  
"Jack?"  
  
Jack's eyes were closed, his stomach knotting. His interrogation after she had left him had been the most heart-breaking, gut-wrenching, and humiliating time in his life. Even 20 years later he couldn't suppress his reactions. He opened his eyes and looked up at her, struggling to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Dozens of people," he replied. "Interrogators, to plot their next move. Analysts, to determine what information I had compromised. Counter-intelligence experts, to understand how I was so easily duped. Psychiatrists, to decide if I was lying." And he thought to himself cynically, a large number of voyeurs who had just watched to see the famous Jack Bristow go down. For years afterward he had overheard snatches of conversation referring to the most intimate details of their lives together.  
  
Irina felt sick. They had never discussed his imprisonment. Every detail of their lives together was on those tapes? She felt violated, now, many years later. How had he felt then? "Jack-," she started, her voice choked with remorse.  
  
"Forget it," he said tightly. He saw the look in her eyes and sighed, trying consciously to relax. "I realized, much later, that Sloane had intentionally prolonged the interrogation in an effort to alienate me from the CIA. He was already at that time planning to go rogue, and wanted me completely disillusioned." He had certainly been successful, Jack thought.  
  
"Sloane. Of course." Bastard, thought Irina. He was the one. He had set her up to try to draw her more tightly into his web. Just as he had done 20 years ago, with Jack.  
  
She looked over at him. His jaw was still clenched, lost in his own memories. Their pasts were like minefields, each stumbling through the other's, accidentally setting off explosions. And unwittingly causing pain.  
  
"Roll over," she said, giving him a push. If she had helped him remember, she could help him forget. He looked at her distractedly, but obeyed, rolling onto his stomach. She straddled his back and began to massage his muscles, willing them to relax, willing him to let go. He gasped as her fingers plunged deep, working out a knot, then moving on. Her strong hands and supple fingers traveled along his neck, down his spine, across his rippling muscles. Unconsciously Jack began to unwind, the dark memories floating away under her rhythm. He sighed with contentment. She was a musician, and he her instrument.  
  
Slowly, he began to sense her fingers change rhythm, begin to explore more widely, moving sensuously across his body. He felt a spreading warmth and a growing ache in his groin. The lassitude that had filled him evaporated with his growing arousal. He flipped over onto his back so that she was straddling his lap, and gazed up at her face, seeing his need reflected in her eyes. His heart swelled as he read the compassion and love there as well. He reached up with his hand and pulled her lips down to his, no longer able to recall what had upset him. Knowing that having her here with him, now, was all that mattered. 


	24. Chpater 23 Motives

They dressed reluctantly, conscious of the passage of time. Irina helped Jack reapply his makeup, which had become smudged. Irina, noting that they had not been disturbed the whole afternoon, smiled and said, "Your guards are well-trained."  
  
Jack turned to her, once again the aging rafir, and responded in his hoarse voice, "Didn't you know? I have a reputation to maintain. Would you like to join my harem?"  
  
"Harem?" she said, pretending to look dangerous. "How thorough is this cover?"  
  
Jack's eyes twinkled.  
  
Turning her mind to the issue at hand, Irina began, "Jack, why are you here?"  
  
Jack hesitated, pondering his reply. "I wanted to give you the chance to escape, if you need it. We could leave directly from here." He looked at her, questioningly.  
  
"Escape? You mean back to the US? CIA custody?" Irina clarified.  
  
Jack nodded, watching her response.  
  
"So I'd be safe from Sloane. But he would be safe from me," she summarized.  
  
Jack nodded again. "You could see Sydney," he offered.  
  
"But she wouldn't be safe," Irina countered.  
  
"No," said Jack. He knew where the conversation would end. He had played over the options in his head a hundred times.  
  
"Not interested."  
  
Jack waited. Of course she hadn't been.  
  
"The only real way to take Sloane out is from the inside," she mused. "Someone he trusts." She looked at him. "Is that why you joined SD-6, all those years ago?"  
  
Jack nodded, yet again.  
  
"That person would need help." Irina looked at Jack. "From someone she could trust."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Not the CIA," she clarified.  
  
"No?" Her response had not surprised him. He was hoping that, at last, she would tell him why. He was praying that it was not what he feared.  
  
She considered her words carefully. "As much as I hate him, this is not just about Sloane, Jack."  
  
He waited, concealing his anxiety.  
  
"It's...about Rambaldi. Which makes it bigger than the CIA. Bigger than the KGB." She looked at him to see if he was following her. "Bigger than any organization. Bigger than any country. Get rid of Sloane, and all you've done is clear the path for someone else to use Rambaldi for their own purposes. Sloane, with Rambaldi's power, would be evil. The US, with Rambaldi's power, would be...evil. Absolute power corrupts...absolutely."  
  
She paused. For so long she had carried the burden herself. Had she found someone else who would understand? Could he understand if he hadn't been held in the thrall of the obsession, hadn't been tempted himself?  
  
"I can't just destroy Sloane, Jack. I'm in this to destroy Rambaldi. Destroy all traces of his work, his theories. Prevent anyone, any organization, from ever recreating his work again."  
  
Jack closed his eyes, momentarily overcome. In all his planning, in all his strategies, a black cloud had hovered. Irina and Rambaldi. Had she been seduced, as Sloane had been? Was eliminating Sloane just a part of her plan to have Rambaldi for herself? It was a fear that he couldn't acknowledge, an outcome that would have driven a wedge between them forever. He berated himself for doubting her.  
  
She took a deep breath. "Jack, if you're going to help me destroy Rambaldi, you'll be betraying your country. As I am betraying mine."  
  
Jack opened his eyes and nodded, one last time. He understood. 


	25. Chapter 24 Death

Sydney sat at her workstation, completing a report on her last mission.  She saw Vaughn coming out of the corner of her eye, looked up, and smiled.  Then sighed to herself.  He had that "I need to talk to you about your parents but don't know how I'm going to start," look on his face. There was something else, as well.  He looked so serious.

"Sydney, Kendall asked me to bring you to his office," he said hurriedly.  "Right away," he finished.

"Vaughn, what's up?" she queried, as she got up and followed him down the hall.

"I think Kendall should tell you," he replied.  Sydney began to worry.

As she entered Kendall's office, she noticed that he looked unusually somber.  "Have a seat, Agent Bristow," he said, gesturing her towards the chair in front of his desk.  He looked up.  "Agent Vaughn, will you wait outside?"

When the door closed, Kendall turned to Sydney.  "Agent Bristow, Sydney, I'm afraid I have some very bad news.  Your father," he paused, "your father died in a training accident yesterday morning.  He was demonstrating the use of explosives to local security forces, and it appears that he may have prematurely detonated the explosive."

Sydney looked stunned.  "That's impossible.  My father would never make a mistake like that."

Kendall looked uncomfortable.  "Agent Bristow, you are probably aware that your father took your mother's latest actions quite hard.  His behavior had become…erratic.  The station chief believes he had been drinking heavily.  You need to prepare yourself for the possibility…that it might have been intentional."  

"Are you saying he might have killed himself on purpose?" asked Sydney, looking shocked.

"I'm afraid that might be the case.  I'm sorry."  Kendall had heard the rumors about Jack's behavior since he had left the taskforce.  Derevko had a lot to answer for.

"Are you sure…it was him?"

"Only one set of remains was found.  I'll need to ask you to obtain his dental records, so that we can confirm it was him, but he was seen entering the building and not seen leaving it."

"I see," Sydney whispered.

"Agent Bristow, there was a letter addressed to you in your father's personal effects.  It was delivered by diplomatic pouch."  Kendall handed her an envelope, with her name scrawled in large writing across the top.

Sydney looked at the envelope, then looked up, puzzled.  "It's opened," she said.

Kendall flushed.  "I'm sorry, Agent Bristow.  I'm afraid the agents on site were a little overzealous."

With shaking hands, Sydney opened the letter and read:

_Dearest Sydney,_

_If you are reading this letter, I am gone.  You know the effect your mother's defection to Sloane had on me.  I need to end this, permanently._

_Please know, sweetheart, that I have always loved you. I am sorry to leave you alone._

_Love,_

_Dad_

Kendall cleared his throat.  "I'll ask Agent Vaughn to drive you home.  Take all the time you need for any arrangements that might need to be made.  If there's anything any of us can do-," Kendall said, leaving the offer hanging.

"Thank you," said Sydney, a tear rolling down her cheek.  "I'll…go now."

Kendall sighed as she left his office.  No child deserved parents like hers.

**

Sloane received the news of Jack's death with delight.  His source in the Algerian embassy had kept him regularly updated on Jack's progress, and had contacted him when Bristow's "accident" had occurred.  Perhaps this would be the final push Irina needed.  He wondered if she had somehow engineered it herself, as payback.  There were very few coincidences in their business.

"My dear, I have some unfortunate news," he said silkily.

Irina watched him patiently.

"Jack Bristow died in an unfortunate…training accident yesterday," he said, watching her closely.  He was not disappointed.  The look of fierce satisfaction in her eyes, quickly erased, told him what he wanted to know.  Clearly this was not a woman to cross.

"We had an agreement," he began delicately.

She finished his thought for him.  "The second artifact is yours."  After a moment's hesitation, "Ours."  

"Ours?" inquired Sloane.

"There might be more that I could do to help," Irina admitted, "but I think a slightly more balanced partnership might be in order."

Sloane had difficulty concealing his satisfaction.  


	26. Chapter 25 Invitation

The funeral was held on a cold, gray, windswept day. The attendance was better than expected. While he had few close friends, the number of people who had trusted and admired Jack Bristow was large. They had chosen to remember the man that he was, rather than the man he had become in the last months of his life.  
  
The minister of their local church had been pressed into service for a man he had seen few times, if at all, over his 30 years of tenure. His stock words of condolence had meant little to those gathered. But Sydney, who spoke without notes and from her heart, moved many to tears as she spoke passionately about her father the patriot, her father her friend.  
  
While officially listed as death from accidental causes, it was widely assumed that Jack Bristow had taken his own life, dying of a broken heart. No one spoke of it to Sydney, but she could see it in their eyes. Vaughn stayed close by her during the ceremony, and Sydney was touched by the support she received from her close friends. After the ceremony they had all returned to her apartment, and toasted Jack, to the extent possible in a non-CIA gathering, until 2 in the morning.  
  
***  
  
Irina had acquired the second artifact as promised. When she had presented it to Sloane, he had held it tenderly, gently caressing it.  
  
"We are very close, Irina. Understanding Rambaldi's work is like a jigsaw puzzle - at the beginning it's impossible to imagine the individual components, let alone the full picture. As you get towards the end - each additional piece provides incrementally more understanding, until, finally, it all becomes clear."  
  
Irina watched him as the fanatical gleam flickered in his eyes. "Arvin," she purred, "those final pieces. If we pool what we know, we may be able to access the final keys to this puzzle."  
  
He studied her carefully. She was showing promise. The ruthlessness with which she had dispatched Bristow, her ingenuity in obtaining the artifacts, her raw ambition. Perhaps -  
  
"Very well, my dear."  
  
**  
  
The hood was removed from Irina's head and she blinked, adjusting to the artificial light. They appeared to be in an underground facility. Sloane was being scanned by a biometric sensor; when the scan was complete a massive metal door opened upwards, giving them access to the vault. She could see temperature and humidity sensors carefully controlling the environment, preserving the artifacts. Security cameras and electronic sensors ringed the area. She could hear the whoosh of the ventilation fans as oxygen was added to the nitrogen atmosphere used to maintain the artifacts in their original state. Carefully laid out and labeled on shelves were more than 50 Rambaldi artifacts. A separate section housed the manuscripts.  
  
Irina stared, suddenly filled with longing. Arvin must have spent a lifetime collecting these all in one place. She yearned to stay and examine each one, attempting to understand Rambaldi's vision. The genius of an inventor 500 years before. She had come so close to solving the puzzle on her own, but with these.she spotted an oddly shaped object on the opposite wall and walked towards it, as if drawn by an unseen force. She felt a surge of satisfaction. She had always suspected a piece like this must exist. She reached out and explored it gently, pausing only when she heard movement behind her.  
  
She turned and saw Sloane watching her. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he said. She saw with revulsion that he was regarding her as a kindred spirit. She realized, with revulsion, that at that moment she was. Mesmerized by the mystery and the power. Obsessed by the greater meaning. She shook herself and her mind cleared. It was just a room with antiques.  
  
She studied the objects carefully. Sloane's jigsaw - what was he missing? She scanned the room slowly, pacing back and forth, deep in thought. After several minutes, she wheeled back to Sloane.  
  
"You're missing 3 pieces."  
  
Sloane breathed in sharply. "How do you know that?"  
  
Irina spent the next 20 minutes with Sloane, relaying out his collection. With the items repositioned, it was clear where gaps existed.  
  
"This piece." She pointed to a gap. "The rafir spoke of a piece like this in his collection. He wasn't sure of the provenance, but the way he described it - it must be this piece."  
  
"Get it," said Sloane. 


	27. Chapter 26 Harem

A/N: This chapter drifts into soft R territory. It is transitional, and not critical to the plot, so if you are a PG-13 reader you should feel comfortable skipping it.  
  
***********************************************************  
  
The funeral had been very difficult for Sydney; dealing with the aftermath was almost worse. Lawyers, insurance agents, banks, executors. All clamored for her attention. As her father had promised, his affairs were as organized as could be expected, but she was not yet ready. She pleaded for time, for some space to come to terms with it on her own before she had to deal with the bureaucracy of death. Vaughn's presence was constant during those days, quietly supportive without being overbearing. Only once, when he offered to go through her father's things for her, did she snap at him. He had backed off, hurt. As far as he knew, her father's apartment remained untouched.  
  
**  
  
Once more, Irina was escorted into the rafir's tent. He had relocated several times in the interim; always, Irina noted, outside the orbital reach of spy satellites.  
  
This time, when she entered, she had been startled to see that he was surrounded by three women, scantily clad. Peeling his grapes, no doubt, she seethed. He had turned laughing eyes to her when she entered the tent, and while she had glared back, she acknowledged the joke. Working on his cover. She vowed that she would make him regret it when she got him alone.  
  
When he had eventually asked everyone to leave the tent, Irina noticed that she was receiving surreptitious glances from the women as they exited. She smiled back serenely, and patted the rafir on the thigh, surprising a quiet chuckle from under the headgear.  
  
"What do you think of my harem?" he leered.  
  
She explained her thoughts in no uncertain terms, and took the opportunity to point out that he might become the harem's eunuch if he weren't careful.  
  
"But you could be head wife," he said innocently. "Umph!" Irina decided she had had enough, and pushed him back against the cushions.  
  
"Think you need a harem?" she said dangerously. Her hands moved to his belt and swiftly unfastened it.  
  
Jack's response stuck in his throat as she looked up provocatively, his zipper in her mouth, and slowly and deliberately unzipped his pants. With one motion she slipped down both pants and boxers, then looked up at him again, grinning evilly.  
  
"Oh, no, Irina. Irina, you're not going to-," Jack moaned, watching her with fascination but powerless to stop her as she lightly ran her tongue up the inside of his thigh. He knew what she had in mind. "Irina, I didn't mean it," then groaned as she began. She worked slowly, using her lips, her tongue, her teeth with precision, teasing him to the edge but not over. Leaving him hovering on the brink. Each time he was close, she would minutely change her position, and ease him back. Jack lay on his back, scarcely able to breathe, blood roaring in his ears. He was too old for this. The last time she had done this to him was 25 years ago, on a bet. He had lost.   
  
"Please...Irina...," he gasped, begging for release. She pulled back for a moment, studying him. "Was there anything you wanted to say? About the harem?"  
  
"No! Yes! I don't need a harem!" he panted, desperately hoping that that was the right answer.  
  
"Good," she smiled. "Now that we've got that settled..." She bent over him and rapidly brought him to climax. She grinned as he shouted. She hoped those tarts heard him. 


	28. Chapter 27 Setup

Jack lay with his head in Irina's lap. Her fingers played with his hair as she recounted what she had seen. "Sloane has concentrated everything in one place. It's easier to guard that way, but represents his greatest vulnerability."  
  
"Tell me about the security." Irina detailed everything that she had seen - cameras, biometric and electronic sensors, infrared, guard counts.  
  
Jack thought carefully. "It sounds pretty impregnable," he said reluctantly.  
  
"From the outside," said Irina pensively.  
  
"But from the inside," said Jack, looking up, an idea occurring to him.  
  
"Yes," Irina breathed, the same thought occurring to her. "If we were to give him an artifact for that room -,"  
  
"-which was an explosive, it could destroy everything inside. It might work," Jack said thoughtfully. "Sloane has protected those artifacts from theft. It would never occur to him that someone might just want to destroy them."  
  
"No, Sloane in his wildest dreams wouldn't be able to imagine someone walking away from the power those items represent."  
  
"It will take a little while to get this fabricated." Jack frowned a moment, thinking through his contacts that might have the ability to recreate a 400 year old artifact.  
  
"Actually," Irina said smugly, "that won't be a problem. I already have it."  
  
"You what?"  
  
"Surely you didn't think I had offered everything I had to Sloane?"  
  
Jack snorted. He should have guessed.  
  
"OK, so we just need to seed it with explosive and a timer. A detonator's out, given that the vault is underground. Give me about a week." Jack missed Marshall. He could have turned it around in a day.  
  
"And Jack - lose the harem, if you know what's good for you."  
  
Jack grinned.  
  
***  
  
Irina reported back to Sloane on the success of her negotiations. Within the week, she expected to have the piece she had spoken of. Their relationship had shifted perceptibly. Irina was no longer an adjunct to his plans, but central to them. 


	29. Chapter 28 Thirty Minutes

"Sound check?"  
  
"Fine," said Irina, impatient to get on with it. "Jack, there's nothing to worry about. This is going to be straightforward. He gets the artifact, then I'm sure he'll head straight for the vault. The biometric sensor will trigger the timer, and then 30 minutes later...I hope Sloane's still in the vault," she finished maliciously. "It would be fitting, somehow, for him to end it with Rambaldi."  
  
"Nothing with Sloane is straightforward," said Jack matter-of-factly. "I'm just trying to cover all the options. I had them place a tracker in the artifact, just in case the explosive fails. At least we'll know where the vault is."  
  
Jack looked up. "We're close." Close to shutting down Sloane. Close to destroying Rambaldi. Close to...a life together. He swallowed. "Be careful."  
  
**  
  
Irina placed the missing artifact in Sloane's hands. He paled visibly at the sight of the piece, which was just as Irina had described. His hands, Irina noticed, were shaking imperceptibly. Sloane's look at her was almost one of awe.  
  
"Irina, I really don't know what to say. I am amazed at your ability to understand the interrelationships between the artifacts. Frankly, it would have taken me considerably more time to have reached the same conclusions." It had been all there, staring him in the face. But only she had seen it.   
  
"I just approach Rambaldi...from a different angle than you," Irina replied. For starters, she thought to herself, I don't want to rule the world.  
  
"I think you've earned the right to place this in the collection yourself," said Sloane, generously. "We'll leave now."  
  
Irina heard a loud curse in her ear. "Find some reason not to go!" Jack hissed.  
  
"Arvin, I-," Irina began to demur.  
  
"No, my dear, I insist. I need your opinions on the remaining pieces." Sloane looked at her curiously as she hesitated.  
  
"Very well," she said. "But my time is short." They were so close now. She couldn't afford to have him start questioning her motives. She wasn't sure how well the modifications to the artifact would stand up to close scrutiny. She tuned out Jack in the background. She was the field agent. It was her call.  
  
Still cursing, Jack scrambled from the back of the van to the driver's seat and activated the tracking software. He waited until Sloane's car exited the parking garage, then followed some distance behind. He didn't see Irina in the car; he assumed she was in the trunk, as last time. He heard only engine noise from the microphone. "Irina?" he tried. "Can you talk?"  
  
"Yes," she said in muffled tones. She must be speaking through the hood.  
  
"Are you crazy?" Then realizing that recriminations weren't going to be of much use, "I'm following in the van."  
  
"I'll try to get out of the vault as soon as possible. Help me keep track of the time."  
  
30 minutes, thought Jack to himself. Plenty of time. Or not nearly enough. He gripped the wheel tighter, throat suddenly tight. Time. So much time had already slipped through their fingers. 20 years wasted. He had kept track of the time for 20 years, marking each dawn, each birthday missed, each anniversary uncelebrated. 30 more minutes. Waiting for Irina to emerge from the vault. Or not.  
  
"Irina-," he said in a choked voice.  
  
"I know, Jack. I love you too," he heard through the headset. There didn't seem to be anything else to say. 


	30. Chapter 29 Countdown

Once again in the underground vault, Irina watched Sloane approach the biometric sensor with the artifact and be scanned. "Mark," she said softly.   
  
"Got it," replied Jack. He had pulled into the near-empty parking garage and was parked about 100 yards from Sloane's car. He set the timer on his watch, and waited.   
  
Reverently, Sloane entered the vault with Irina and waited while the door slid shut behind them. Taking the artifact from Sloane, Irina placed it carefully in its appropriate slot on the shelves and stepped back. She heard the hiss of Sloane's breath behind her.  
  
"Remarkable. Exactly as you predicted," said Sloane approvingly. He paused, admiring the display, while Irina barely concealed her impatience. "Would you give me your thoughts on the other two missing pieces?"   
  
"25 minutes left," Irina heard in her ear.   
  
Swiftly, Irina gave Sloane her opinions on the remaining two pieces. He asked several followup questions; it was with a sigh of relief that Irina followed him away from the artifacts, heading for the vault door. "20 minutes left."  
  
To her dismay, Sloane took a detour towards the manuscripts. Without looking over his shoulder, he collected them and moved into an adjacent room, set up with a long table. Carefully he began to lay them out, saying, "You have provided so much insight on the artifacts. Perhaps you can assist with interpretation of some of the more obscure portions of the manuscripts?"  
  
"Arvin, I really need to be leaving. I'll be happy to assist with the manuscripts, but at another time."  
  
Sloane looked up, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes. Something wasn't right. Irina should be panting to see these manuscripts. "We'll leave when I'm ready," he snapped. "The vault door is keyed to my voice signature alone."  
  
"Of course, Arvin," said Irina nonchalantly. "I didn't realize that you were in such a hurry." Sloane relaxed.  
  
Jack bit back an oath. "15 minutes left," said Jack. "I'm coming down there." Stealthily he emerged from the van and approached Sloane's car. There was no guard inside. He opened the hood and made some minor modifications, then looked for a way down to the vault. Irina and Sloane had used an elevator. That was out. He would be target practice when it opened on the lower floor. He scanned the garage for the emergency stairwell, which Irina had identified from her previous visit. Spying it, he made his way across to it cautiously, screwing a silencer onto his gun. Irina had counted 6 guards. He sighed and headed down the stairwell.  
  
Irina stepped over to the table and glanced at the manuscripts, furiously brainstorming ways to get out of the vault. Her thoughts were interrupted by a surge of surprise, as she scanned the writings and drawings in front of her. She barely suppressed a gasp. How had Sloane missed it? It was almost all here.   
  
"10 minutes." She heard the sound of gunfire in her ear.  
  
"What do you think?" said Sloane eagerly.  
  
"Mmm, let me think. I've always found it more difficult to interpret Rambaldi's manuscripts," Irina stalled. She cursed herself. Destroying the artifacts wasn't enough - she was going to need to make sure the manuscripts didn't survive either.  
  
"Why don't we take these in with the artifacts? If we see them together, that may give me some ideas."  
  
"Irina, what are you doing?" she heard Jack hiss in her ear. "You can't go back in with the artifacts - you only have 5 minutes left." Then silence as she heard more gunfire.  
  
"Very well," said Sloane. "If you believe it will assist us." Carefully, lovingly, he gathered up each manuscript and drawing. Irina could have screamed with impatience.  
  
"Irina!" yelled Jack. "15 seconds! Take cover!"  
  
She had run out of time. Mentally shrugging her shoulders, Irina calmly shifted her position to be as far away as possible from the artifacts room. Idly she wondered how much C-4 Jack had been able to put in the artifact.  
  
It was fitting, somehow. She and Sloane and Rambaldi, bound together at the end, as the seconds ticked down. Bound together years ago, in a quest for immortality. Bound together now, in the imminence of death. She had always known that, one day, it might come to this - that she might need to end her life to prevent the immortality of others. And in those years when she had been alone, the cost had not seemed so high. At times, even, death had beckoned, welcoming, as an alternative to her soulless existence.  
  
Now - she sighed. She acknowledged to herself that the cost was much higher. Knowing what might be required of her, she had never allowed herself the luxury of contemplating a future beyond Rambaldi. A future with Jack. With Sydney. As the seconds ticked down, she reflected on what might have been, and grieved. The cost was much higher now, but it was one that still must be paid. She hoped Jack would understand.  
  
5...4..."I'm sorry, Jack," she whispered...3...2... 


	31. Chapter 30 Checkmate

....1... With a sudden roar, the vault rocked and filled with deafening sound, knocking Irina off her feet. The air was filled with dust - pulverized artifacts, she exulted, struggling to stand. Her relief at surviving the blast was short-lived. Sloane was already on his feet, gun drawn.  
  
Sloane shook with rage, his normal icy exterior evaporated by the sight of the artifact room in ruins. It was obvious she had planted a bomb. "You bitch!" he shouted, white with fury. "Do you know what you've done? You've destroyed a priceless treasure. My life's work!" He struggled to get himself back under control.  
  
Irina held perfectly still. There was a manic gleam in Sloane's eye. "Irina, stall him! I'm almost there," shouted Jack in her ear. Great idea, thought Irina.  
  
"That wasn't your life's work, Arvin. It was Rambaldi's. It should have died with him."  
  
"You...don't...understand," said Sloane through gritted teeth.  
  
"Arvin, I understand better than you think." She could hear the sounds of gunfire through her earpiece, and Jack breathing heavily.  
  
"I think," said Sloane malevolently, "that I'll give you some time to reconsider." He shifted his aim and fired. Irina screamed as her left leg buckled underneath her, hit by Sloane's bullet. "You'll stay here in this vault. As you slowly suffocate, you'll have the opportunity to reflect on the attractions of immortality."  
  
"Irina! Hold on!" shouted Jack, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.   
  
Irina watched Sloane through a haze of pain as he gathered the manuscripts and headed through the vault door. The manuscripts. She would have wept, had she the strength. He would be able to recreate almost everything from the manuscripts.   
  
Sloane exited the vault door and hesitated. His guards were gone and he could hear gunfire from the stairwell. Rapidly he engaged the vault door mechanism and watched as it slowly began to creak down into place. He sprinted past the stairwell towards the elevator.  
  
Jack burst out of the stairwell door. To his left was the vault, the door continuing its slow progression downwards. Through the door he could see Irina, crumpled on the ground, not moving. To his right, down the long hallway, he could see Sloane about to enter the elevator.  
  
"Bristow?" snarled Sloane. Damn the man. He was supposed to be dead.  
  
Jack heard Irina whisper through his headset, "He has the manuscripts. You...must...stop...him." She gasped imploringly. "Promise me."  
  
"Your choice Bristow - it's me or Irina," Sloane smiled triumphantly, as the vault continued to close. He had known Jack Bristow for 30 years. Bristow wouldn't sacrifice his queen. Check, thought Sloane.  
  
"Jack," he heard faintly. "Forget me. Don't...let...him...escape. Please," begged Irina.  
  
Without hesitation, Jack turned and hurtled towards her. He could hear the elevator door closing behind him, Sloane's mocking laughter as he escaped. Jack scooped Irina into his arms and sprinted out of the vault, diving under the door as it closed with a loud clang.  
  
Gently he put her down on the ground, his jaw clenched. She had lost a lot of blood from her leg, and her face was creased with pain. But her eyes, when she opened them, were dark with anguish and reproach.  
  
"How could you?" she whispered. "You could have ended it. Sloane. Rambaldi. Forever. For you. For Sydney."  
  
Jack bent over her, struggling to get his emotions under control as he tried to slow the bleeding. "Without you, it would have been meaningless," he said quietly, finally able to speak. "Besides," he said with a trace of a smile, "it's not over yet."  
  
**  
  
Sloane emerged from the exit of the underground chamber, gloating over yet another victory over Bristow. The loss of the artifacts was a monumental blow, but with the manuscripts he would be able to recreate the information he had lost. He tenderly patted the portfolio he was carrying.  
  
He hurried to his car and climbed in. It would be a short ride to the private airport he patronized. He would call the pilots while enroute; they would depart as soon as he arrived. He would be untraceable in another 30 minutes.  
  
Jack Bristow. His protégé. His friend. His conscience. His tool. His enemy. At what point had Jack turned against him? When had Jack lost the vision, the grasp of the greater purpose they both could have had?   
  
Sloane sneered. Jack would never be his equal. Always crippled by his love for Irina Derevko. He had been confident that Jack would choose to save Irina rather than come after him. What a waste of a mind, one of the best in the business. No one had been better than Jack at evaluating strategies and options, covering all the contingencies. Sloane felt a niggling of doubt in the back of his mind as he turned the key in the ignition. Something bothered him, something he could not put his finger on. The engine caught, and the car exploded.  
  
**  
  
The sound of the car bomb reverberated down the stairwell, into the hallway where Jack tended to Irina. Checkmate, he thought. 


	32. Epilogue

"Agent Bristow. Could you come into my office, please?"  
  
Sydney looked up at Kendall. She quickly suppressed her shock. He was almost smiling. She followed him into his office and sat down.  
  
"It appears, Agent Bristow, as though reports of the death of your father were a bit premature."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"I have just received word that your father was not killed in the training accident in Algeria."  
  
A smile lit up Sydney's face. "How do you know?"  
  
"Your father has just made contact with the CIA office in Belgium. He appears," and at this point Kendall actually smiled, "to have taken down Sloane's operation."  
  
"My mother?"  
  
"Is with him. Apparently they were working together."  
  
"And Rambaldi?"  
  
"Unfortunately, it appears that anything associated with Rambaldi was destroyed in the process of eliminating Sloane. The CIA are trying to recreate as much as they can, but they have very little to work with. Your mother sustained a concussion in an explosion, and she has had some memory impairment. She has not been able to provide much assistance."  
  
Sydney sat for a moment, reveling in the knowledge that Sloane would not be persecuting her family any more. Then, realizing that she had missed an obvious question, she asked, "Who was it that died in the training accident?"  
  
Kendall studied her carefully. "Who was it, indeed? What a coincidence that the remains matched the dental records you supplied," he said casually.  
  
Some coincidence, thought Sydney. She wondered how her father had smuggled that jawbone into Algeria. "Mistakes happen," said Sydney neutrally.  
  
"Yes," Kendall agreed quietly. "Mistakes happen." He thought for a moment. "Take some time off. I'm sure you'll want to see your parents. Both of them. And Agent Bristow - please tell your father from me that... I'm sorry. I should have believed him."   
  
**  
  
Jack watched the water slip by the under the bow of their ship. He and Irina were heading back to the US but, by mutual agreement, had decided to sail back rather than fly. It would give them time to talk - about their past, about their future. Irina was nestled next to him in the deck chair, wrapped in a blanket and taking a nap.  
  
Jack's phone call to the CIA station chief in Belgium from the underground vault had been surreal. Jack had been frantic for medical assistance for Irina but, surrounded by Sloane's dead gunmen, a car in the parking lot gutted by a car bomb, and the remains of the Rambaldi prophecy, had been reluctant to call the local police. The CIA station chief, receiving a phone call from a man whose funeral he had attended several weeks prior, had required Jack to recite virtually every operational code in the book before accepting that it wasn't a crank call.   
  
Irina's leg had required surgery and pins for the bone. She had stayed in the hospital for a week, Jack seldom leaving her side. Her lower leg was still encased in a cast, and she still tired easily, but she was healing rapidly. She had been released into his custody; the paperwork for a full pardon was already in process.  
  
They had spent several additional days in debriefing in Belgium, with more likely on their return. Jack, in particular, was anticipating some difficult sessions. The rosy glow of Sloane's death would likely cover for the fact that Jack had faked his own death, been absent without leave, and misappropriated agency funds. It was unlikely to counter the agency's displeasure at the destruction of the Rambaldi artifacts and manuscripts. Jack shrugged mentally. He had been accused of worse.  
  
He felt Irina stir next to him, and tenderly leaned down to kiss her awake. The past few days on the ship had been among the most joyous he had known. For so many years he had dreamed of her face, her touch, her laugh; each dawn the bitterness would return, casting a pall over his life. When he had woken up the first morning of their cruise, with her still in his arms and not vanished in the mists, he had wept unashamedly. He had found her, then lost her, then found her again. He would never let her go.  
  
With Rambaldi no longer between them, like a jealous lover, Jack had sensed a change in Irina. No longer did she withhold a part of herself from him. He felt that, for the first time, he was seeing her clearly. He no longer mourned the Laura that had died, but gloried in the Irina that lived. Her intelligence, her courage, her passion, her complexity. He hugged her closer to him as he watched her slowly awake.  
  
Irina opened her eyes and smiled lazily up at Jack. It felt so good to be with him, cradled in his arms. The sea breeze ruffled his hair, and he looked years younger than he had when she had first returned. It was with a start that she realized that she faced him for the first time with no more lies between them. History and baggage, yes, but not the shadow of imminent betrayal which had haunted her during their first years together and during her stay at the CIA. Would he know that? After all that had passed between them, after being offered the power to rule the world, she wanted nothing more than the love and trust of the man next to her.   
  
"Sleep well?" asked Jack smiling.  
  
"Mmm hmmm." Irina studied Jack mischievously through lowered lashes. "I was having such a nice dream. A tall, handsome man was sweeping me off my feet..."  
  
"Oh?" said Jack pretending to frown. "And what was he planning to do with you?"  
  
Irina leaned over and whispered in his ear. Jack cocked an eyebrow at her. "All those things?" Irina nodded vigorously. Jack sighed theatrically. "How long is this trip?"  
  
"Forever?" said Irina looking up at him, all traces of laughter gone from her eyes.  
  
"Forever," Jack agreed, as he swept her up to carry her back to their cabin.  
  
*******fin********* 


End file.
